Memories From A Different Time
by RishiGenki
Summary: Memories are a powerful thing. They can make you smile, and yet at the same time they can hurt you. These are memories from when England loved and lost a little boy. Warning: fluff. Officially complete.
1. Memories of A Second Chance

**Memories of a Different Time.**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**By RishiandSquee**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, but doting older brothers are love.**

**(A/N: A different take on Sealand and England, I've been waiting for a fanfiction like this, so I had to make it myself. Enjoy.)**

_Memories are a powerful thing. They can make you smile, and yet at the same time they can hurt you. They can show depths to a person, or persons, or give a simple action a very deep, hidden meaning._

_These memories are from before, when things were simple, but not too simple—when children played, and when all one had to do was smile to make the world brighter._

_This is the story before the story, when England loved, and subsequently lost, a precious little boy._

**chapter one**

**Memories of a Second Chance**

Our story starts on a warm day.

England looked out. Both the sky and the sea greeted him, outstretching as far as England could see. It was a wonderful day, and England's mood was considerably bright.

"Ihnglan."

There was a tiny tug at England's sleeve. Looking up at England was a tiny tot, maybe two or three years old. The babe had sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and huge eyebrows. He looked up at England, a frown on his face.

"Ihnglan" the child repeated. "Hungry."

England couldn't help himself. He smiled and picked up the toddler. "Again?" he sighed, snuggling the child.

The child-England had not given him a name yet-grabbed England's shirt in response and snuggled back. "Ihnglan! Hungry! Hungry!" the baby pouted, looking up at England with big, sea blue eyes. "Food, Ihnglan."

"Alright, alright, you're hungry. But can you say 'please'?" England asked the baby.

The child continued to pout. "Food, Ihnglan! Hungry!"

"Now, now, enough of that. Using manners is very important, young man." England held the boy. "Now say 'please', and I'll get you food."

"Ihnglan!" the child whined. "Food PEASE! Food pease! Hungry!" he exclaimed, tugging on the Brit's eyebrows.

England yelped. "Ow! Stop, hey! No fair!" he laughed. "You're a feisty little bugger, aren't you? Don't worry, I'm not about to let you go hungry." he laughed.

The child, in turn, also laughed. "Food pease! Food, Ihnglan!"

England opened a small jar of baby food. He picked out a tiny blue spoon. Encrusted on the spoon were white waves of the ocean. "Now, say 'ah'." England commanded, waving the spoon in front of the child.

At the sight of the jar, the baby's face brightened. "Food!" he yelled, grabbing the jar.

"Hey!" England jumped back at having the jar of food taken. "No, hey, give me that!" he commanded, holding out his hand.

The child ignored England. "Ihnglan! Food!" he yelled, holding up the jar. "Food!"

"Yes, I know that's food, I'm trying to feed it to you!" England fussed. "Now give it here! Or do you want a different kind?"

The blond tot frowned. "No! I do!" he exclaimed. The child dunked his hand into the jar and examined his fingers, now covered in the baby food. Gleefully, he stuck his hand in his mouth and giggled. "Nuhmmy!"

England started to fret. "Oh, come now, young man, you've gone and made a mess!" England ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "Give me that."

"No! Mine! I do self! I do!" In his temper, the child dropped the jar. A loud c_rash _was heard. The baby looked down at the jar, startled. It had cracked in half, contents spilling onto the floor. The child immediately became curious. He started to reach down, intent on picking up the food.

England panicked. "No!" he yelled, snatching up the tot before he touched the glass. "We do not touch glass! It is very dangerous!"

The child, startled by England's harsh-sounding voice, burst into tears.

England became flustered. "Come now, little one," he said soothingly, picking up the babe. "Don't get upset. It was an accident. You don't need to cry over that."

"Nhguu..." the baby hiccupped, big tears coming out of his eyes. "Sawee. I sawee, Ihnglan."

England bounced the child, trying to calm him down. "Yes, yes, it's fine, I'm not angry at you."

After a few minutes of sobbing and subsequent soothing, the baby stuck his thumb firmly in his mouth and closed his eyes. Soon after, he started to breath rhythmically. England sighed in relief. The baby was finally asleep.

"Ah, so the rumors are true."

England knew that voice-worse yet, he_ hated_ that voice. It was the voice of his mortal-enemy-and-occasional-friend. England turned towards the door.

"Francis! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" England hissed, trying not to wake up the child in his arms.

France stood at the door, smiling giddily. "So you do have a lovechild. Tell me, Arthur, whose is he?"

"He's mine!" England glared at the Frenchman.. "Now what are you doing in my house? I don't have time to deal with you!"

France ignored England, instead walking over and examining the baby in England's arms. "Why, such a sweet little darling. Even has your eyebrows. Cute." he commented, tousling the child's hair.

"Of course. What did you expect?" England glared at France, his retort harsh.

France feigned hurt, but smiled at the sleeping babe. "So, ho did the child get here? Is there a new country? That happens often during times of war."

"I guess he wouldn't really be considered a country." England looked off sheepishly. "He's more of a...a territory."

"Ah, I see..." France continued to stare at the child, captivated. "So, what's the little one's name?"

"N-name?" England flushed. "I-I haven't given him one yet."

France looked at England for a long second. "...you haven't...given the child a NAME?" he grabbed England by the shoulders, careful not the hurt the child. "What have you been calling the babe all this time?"

"I-I'm sorry! I just haven't thought up a good one!" England whined.

France frowned, almost tearing. "How tragic! To go without a name for so long! Oh, the hurt this babe must feel! You have no right to give the child a name! I must do it!"

"Fine, whatever! Just shut the hell up, git! Before you wake him up!" England hissed in a loud whisper.

France looked at the baby for a moment before speaking again. "Honestly, she looks like a _Jeanne _to me."

England shot France a harsh glare. "He's a BOY, nitwit!"

France paused. "Huh. Could've fooled me." he pondered for another minute. "How about Peter? It's a nice name."

England looked down at the child in his arms before nodding. "Yeah. Peter is an appropriate name. It suits him."

France then tugged at England's sleeve. "Come, Arthur, there is much to discuss, and I prefer not doing it in front of the babe-Peter. He may wake."

England hesitantly nodded, putting Peter in the makeshift crib that England had put together. He gently kissed the baby's forehead. "Sweet dreams, Peter." he said softly.

England and France both left the room.

As they sat down at the table, France looked up at England. "It's funny. I expected you to be stressed when I heard about the child...and yet, you seem fairly adjusted."

"Why in the world would I be stressed? He's not much of a challenge for two years old, and he's so sweet. Francis, you have to see him when he's not sleeping. He's the sweetest, that child." England smiled, clearly already in the stages of becoming a doting parent.

France frowned, putting his chin in his hands. "That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. Where did he come from? I haven't heard you trying to make any new colonies. And what in the world do you plan to do with him?"

England blinked. "What do you mean, what do I plan to do with him? I'm going to raise him into being a fine young country."

France continued to stare and frown. "Arthur. Are you seriously going to do this take care of him? Or is this going to wind up like Alfred?"

England scowled. "I don't know why you go comparing Peter to that git. Peter's nothing like him, and he won't turn out like him, either." he said firmly, crossing his arms. "I don't have to worry about crossing the ocean to see him, either. He lives three miles from my place, and I don't plan on letting him go off on his own until he's older." England started to get flushed with excitement. "I'm going to raise him right, you'll see."

France sighed. "You really worry me sometimes, Arthur. You and I both know that there's a war going on right now-how can you expect to be here for him when you go off fighting Germany?"

The green eyed country clenched his fist. "Is there a REASON that you came here, other then to give me a massive temper?"

The Frenchman ran his hand through his hair, sighing. "Arthur." he said, changing the subject. "Where did you find him? Peter, I mean."

"...a war fort." England grumbled.

France blinked. "E-I'm sorry, I must have misheard you." France laughed awkwardly. "Did you say that-that Peter's a _fort_? As in one for war?"

"Yes! Peter is a war fort!" England shot back.

"Arthur..." France froze. "Arthur, war forts aren't countries. They aren't even considered _territories_. How in the world is he here?"

England slammed his hand on the table, trying to ignore the tears building up in his eyes. "HE'S HERE, AND I'M HAPPY ABOUT IT!" he fussed. "Look, dammit, I found him, okay? And that must mean _something_!"

"...what's wrong, Arthur?"

England wiped his eyes. "Nothing." he muttered. "And when are you leaving?"

France's brows furrowed. "I was actually kind of hoping that I could help take care of him. I got permission from my boss, due to it wartime and all, and I figured that you would need all the help you could get."

England sighed, standing up. He didn't want to say anything else to the Frenchman. He silently went into the kitchen to get rags to clean up the mess that Peter had made with the baby food.

France persistently followed England. "Is that a yes?"

England knelt down, cleaning the mess. "I didn't say no, did I?" he smirked.

France grinned. "So I'm an uncle, now, am I?" he said cheerfully. "Don't worry, I'll be the best uncle that our little Peter could ever wish he had!

**~End chapter one~**

**(A/N: Next chapter is "Memory of the Allies Meeting". Sounds fun, ne? Hope you come back soon!)**


	2. Memories of The Allies Meeting

**Memories of a Different Time.**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction by RishiandSquee**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, but baby Sealand is the most adorable thing since Chibitalia.**

**chapter two**

**Memory of the Allies Meeting**

It was a quiet day. The sun was shining, the birders were singing. It was the start of a splendid July day.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Without warning, a child's wail could be heard throughout England's normally quiet household.

France immediately dropped the book that he had been reading and frantically ran up the stairs into Peter's room, which was really just the guest room with a crib placed in it. "Peter? What is it?" he exclaimed, opening the door.

"Jiih!"

A happy, yet frustrated baby face greeted him, calling him 'Jiih'—France assumed it was short for "Jiijii", or "uncle"—as he stood on his tiptoes, trying his best to get out of his crib. He was pointing to something. Apparently, his toy boat had fallen to the floor. The child looked up at France "Jiih!" he exclaimed, pointing. "Jiih! Boat! Tha boat! Gettit!" he jabbed his finger for emphasis. "Get! Get!"

France sighed in relief. "Is that all?" he asked, bending down and scooping the toy off the floor. "Here you go, _mon dieu_." He smiled as he handed the toy to the child.

Peter's face burst out into a grin. "Jiih!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Jiih! Save tha boat! Jiih save tha boat! Jiih save it!" Suddenly, the child lost his balance and fell on his bottom, but he was giggling too much to notice.

France couldn't help but laugh. "I guess I did save the boat, didn't I?"

"Yeah! Jiih! Save tha boat!" Peter climbed to his feet again, reaching up for France. "Jiih!"

"Hmm? What is it, my precious little angel?" France leaned down to eye level with Peter.

"Uhp!" the child yelled impatiently. "Ihnglan!"

It took France a moment to figure out what Peter wanted. "Oh, do you want me to take you to England?" he asked, picking the boy up.

Peter nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide. "Ihnglan! Go!" he said, pointing his pudgy fingers to the door.

"Peter, England's asleep right now." France said, trying to get a decent hold on the squirming babe. France found the child's endless energy to be highly amusing, and very much like America had been—though he wouldn't dare tell England that.

The baby blinked, trying to understand this information. He pointed to the door again.

"Ihnglan." he repeated firmly, his bushy brows furrowed. "Go."

France laughed again. Peter was a mini-England, right down to the one-track minded stubbornness. "Right, okay." he said, bouncing the baby. "Don't fret so much, I'll take you to England."

France opened the door to England's room quietly. The shades were down, but it wasn't dark enough that France couldn't see the man. Still, he pulled back the shades, and what France saw in the Britain's bed amused him.

The green-eyed nation was completely out cold, his blankets strewn all over the place. He was snoring softly. France carefully set the small toddler on the bed while trying not to laugh, the new camera he had bought from America ready.

Peter immediately began to crawl on top of the older country, intent on waking him up. "Ihnglan! Mohnin!" the child exclaimed, patting England's face. "Wake up!" the baby pouted, then started to smush England's cheeks together. "Up! Up!" he persisted. France snapped a photo as best he could.

England finally began to stir. "Nnn..." he mumbled as the small child patted his face. Peter, still not satisfied, continued to smush his cheeks, pouting.

"Ihnglan! Jiih an Peta up! Ihnglan! Get up!"

"Right, right..." England replied sleepily, turning to the other side. Peter promptly fell off of England and onto the bed with a very soft _thump_.

The child froze for a moment, then burst into tears, startled.

England shot up the second the child started to cry. "Peter?" he grabbed the babe, checking for bruises, relieved to find none. "I'm so sorry, Peter! I'm awake now, see? See?" he exclaimed, hugging Peter tightly.

Peter sniffed. "Wake?" he blubbered, eyes wide.

England kissed Peter's forehead. "Yes, Peter, England's awake now."

Peter then smiled, the tears of only moments before completely forgotten. "Ihnglan! Jiih save tha boat!" he said, grinning. "He save tha boat!"

England smiled back. "Really? France did?" he hugged the boy, then looked up at France, confused. "Boat?" he mouthed.

France smiled, camera in hand. "His toy."

England, noticing the camera, glared at the Frenchman. "What are you doing with that thing?" he whispered, still holding the child. France merely winked and pointed to Peter. England rolled his eyes at the older blond.

"Ihnglan!" Peter exclaimed, tugging at England's shirt. "Pway with me!"

England looked down at the boy in his arms and smiled. "Alright, I'll play with you." he said with a smile.

The two started to play. Peter screamed with delight as England tickled, lifted, and cuddled him. France gleefully snapped a few photos as best he could-technology was getting so difficult to use in the 1940's.

After a few minutes of this, England fell backwards, still holding the tiny Peter, who was begging to play more. England was absolutely exhausted, but couldn't help grinning. France smiled at the sight, camera still ready. "Is that all for today, England-papa?" he said teasingly. "You haven't even gotten out of bed, and you're already exhausted."

England groaned. "What time is it?" he asked, trying in vain to calm down Peter.

France glanced over to the clock. "Late enough that we're going to be late for the Allies meeting." he replied nonchalantly.

England immediately jumped up. "What? Why didn't you say anything before?" he exclaimed.

"You and Peter are just so precious together, I couldn't help it." France laughed. After a moment, of this he sighed contently, plucking Peter out of England's hands. "I'll go change Peter." he said.

England immediately jumped out of bed, grabbing the nearest clothes he could find. He ran into the bathroom in a hurry.

Peter stared blankly into space, obviously confused, before looking up at France. "Jiih?"

France tickled the boy. "Come now, Peter, let's get you dressed. We're going out for a bit, okay?"

"Go where? Wanna play." Peter pouted.

"Oh ho~ we'll play later, Peter, I promise, but right now England-papa and France-jiijii have to go to an important meeting. If you're lucky, maybe you'll be able to play once we get to the meeting. I'm sure everyone would jump at the chance for an excuse not to work." France said in a sing-song voice as he changed Peter into a navy blue sailor outfit. He hugged the child when he finished. "I wonder how everyone else is going to take you?"

"Alright, dudes, it's time to start the Allies meeting! Or, as I like to call it, the America's-the-hero-and-everyone-else-is-backup meeting!" America's voice rang out, loud and obnoxious, as always. "Speaking of backup, has anyone seen France or England? They haven't shown up yet, have they?"

"I have not seen them either, aru." China replied promptly.

Russia nodded, sitting next to China. "Nope, not a clue." he said, smiling.

America sighed, putting his hand to his forehead. "Jeez, and they call _me_ irresponsible. This is an important meeting! I can't just have them blow it off and go skipping all willy-nilly." He frowned. "I guess we have no other choice...Russia!"

Russia looked up, his interest perked. "Yes?"

"Go find those two and scare them into submission, and then bring 'em here! That's an order!" America commanded, pointing outside.

At that moment, England burst into the room. He entered without a word, an irritated look on his face.

Russia's face fell into almost a childish pout. "Aww, why did you have to come in now? I never get to have fun."

"Sorry we're late, everyone~" France called out, striding into the room, pushing a carriage.

America imitated England's scowl as best he could, "_Dudes_, you're _late_." he said, secretly taking delight in scolding the two older nations. "This is an important meeting! Tardiness is not allowed! And what's with the carriage? Are you two so broke that you have to take on babysitting jobs?"

France laughed at the joke, while England grabbed the bridge of his nose. "Don't you have a meeting to start?" England growled.

America's curiosity, however, got the best of him. "Seriously, though, what's with the carriage?"

"I am also curious about the child carriage, aru. We don't use those at my place."

"Were you two so kind as to bring lunch? Kolkolkol."

England crossed his arms, obviously irritated. "There's a _child_ in there, you git. I didn't think I had to explain something so simple." he spat.

"Okay, I figured that, but..." America blinked. "_Why_ did you guys bring a kid in here? Francis?" America turned to the good-natured country, trying to get some answers.

"Well, we very well couldn't have left him at home, could we?" France asked.

America facepalmed. Figures that France wouldn't give him a straight answer.

Timidly, China peeked into the carriage. "Aiyaaah, it's a baby England, aru!" he called, staring wide eyed at the child. Peter stared right back up at China, just as surprised and wide-eyed.

Russia's eyebrows rose. "Really? I want to see, too." he said, pushing China out of the way and poking his head into the carriage. He and Peter stared at each other for a long time before Peter suddenly burst into tears. Russia smiled. "He reminds me of Latvia." he commented gleefully.

England sulked in the corner, the entire conversation somehow irritated him even more then these useless meetings usually did. He did his best to contain his temper

America looked over to England, grinning. "So the rumors are true, huh?" he said, walking over to the Brit. "That's awesome! What's his name, England?" he asked, almost excitedly.

England, arms still crossed, answered quickly. "His name's Peter."

"Peter, huh? That's a pretty good name!" America nudged England, still grinning.

"France named him."

"Still, that's pretty cool. So what country is he? Maybe we can get him to fight for the Allies if we play our cards right." America continued to grin, unable to read the atmosphere that England was giving off.

"He's not a country."

America blinked. "W-what?"

"He's not a country. He's a war fort." England said, avoiding eye contact.

The hero started to laugh awkwardly. "Of course he's a country, England. I mean, he's your little brother-and he's _here_-so he has to be a country! Stop trying to pull my leg, dude."

England glared at America. "Did you not here me or something? _War. Fort_."

There was a pause, and then America swallowed. "Does that...does that normally happen?"

"No, it doesn't, but it did, so I'm not complaining."

America studied the Brit for a moment, and then grinned. "Well, maybe he'll turn into a great country someday!"

"Possibly." England shifted. This conversation was not going where he wanted it to—well, he didn't really want to have this conversation anyway, so it was a moot point.

"Well, let's recognize him as a country so he can join Team 'America's-the-hero-and-everyone-else-is-backup' and get big as soon as possible!"

England scrunched his brows. "He's too small for that."

America paused, glancing over to the group of countries surrounding the still crying Peter—China and France trying to calm him down, with Russia looking somewhat pleased. "...yeah, I guess you're right." he said softly. "He's a little too small to be a hero." he turned to England, quietly smiling. "Right now, he needs a hero to protect him."

England blinked, blushing slightly. "Stop staring, you twit." he mumbled. He uncrossed his arms and started to walk over to the crying baby. England picked the boy out of the carriage and smiled. "Don't cry, Peter. Russia's scary, but he won't hurt you."

"I can vouch against that." Russia piped up.

Peter looked up at England and immediately started to smile. "Ihnglan!" The baby blinked away his tears. "Ihnglan!"

The group cooed at him-minus Russia, who just went 'kolkolkol'.

England started at the child. Peter, with his blond hair, blue eyes, bushy eyebrows...and yet he was so _small_. How long would it take for him to get bigger? Every country grew up at different rates-but this was a _war fort_. And being a country was sometimes hopelessly depressing-he would have to listen to his boss, he would have to do things that he wouldn't want to, he would have to fight wars, go through lots of pain and hardship...

_And he was so small_...

"He doesn't need to become a country."

England mumbled, stroking Peter's hair.

"He doesn't need to. He's too small."

The group of allies stared at England for a moment. France got up, then walked over to the two, placing his hand on England's trembling shoulder. "Okay." France said gently. "Okay, he doesn't need to become a country." A concerned smile crossed the man's face. "You don't need to worry about it."

England looked up at France, then down at Peter, who was still giggling in his arms, unaware of the atmosphere. "...can we...can we leave yet?" he asked in a soft whisper, brows furrowed.

France looked up at America, waiting for permission. America shrugged in response. "Hey, you guys skipped most of the meeting anyway."

England immediately started to walk out of the room, ignoring China, Russia and—_who was that in the corner, looking at him with concern_? He stormed out of the room. As soon as he closed the doors, he tried to smile at Peter. "So, Peter, what do you want to play?"

Peter grinned. "Play! Peta play with Ihnglan! Peta be a big country wif Ihnglan!" he laughed, gleefully squishing England's cheeks together.

The older man stopped in his tracks. England stopped breathing for a moment as he digested what the child had just unwittingly said. He bit his lip, trying to keep himself composed. It was pathetic. He had already lost himself in the meeting room.

Peter gurgled happily, unaware of what England's tears meant.

"Hey, Arthur, Alfred said we could go, but—Arthur?" France ran over to England. "What's wrong? Why are you...hey! What happened?" England's shoulder was shaking almost to the point of spazzing. France's face twisted in worry as he thought of all the horrible things that could have happened in the few moments he was away—_was_ _he becoming frantic like a parent?_—and quickly looked over the two, making sure no one was hurt. "You're shaking so badly. Here, let me take Peter."

"I-I'm fine, you git." England swallowed, trying to keep himself composed, ignoring his still shaking body. "I'm absolutely fine."

France still took Peter out of England's arms-despite cries of protest from the babe-and the two walked in silence, with England's occasional sniffling breaking the quiet atmosphere.

"That went better then I would have expected." France finally spoke, glancing softly at England. "Didn't it?"

England shrugged. "If you say so."

France gave a loud sigh. "We need to get Peter a photo album." he declared, smiling. "Oh, and I need to get these pictures developed somehow. Technology is so difficult, isn't it? I'll ask America later on how to use the camera better."

That was all England needed to snap back to his normal state. "You stupid frog! Stop taking pictures like that when I'm sleeping! My hair was all messy." England flushed slightly. "I understand that the concept of pictures is highly engaging, but there's no need to capture someone in such a state! Imagine how horrible it would be if someone decided to use something like that for devious purposes! It would be the end of the world"

France laughed, and Peter eventually joined in, as England continued to fuss.

**~End Chapter Two~**

**(A/N: it's 2600 words because it's just **_**so cute**_**. Sorry if it was a long read for a chapter fic. ^^; Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter is going to be fun, too! So stick around~)**


	3. Memories of Love

**Memories of a Different Time**

—**Interlude**—

**Memories Of A Midsummer's Day**

**...**

It was a beautiful day. The sun was strongly shining, telling the world that it was the perfect day to go out. It was one of those days that you had to do something outside, otherwise you felt the whole day was wasted—where you had to go outside to play, or go out on a romantic date with a lover, or do _something_, as long as it was outside.

England, of course, could do none of these things. He was stuck in his study, doing paperwork that he had neither the motivation nor desire to do. The windows were wide open in order to let some cool air in, but that also allowed in the voices of the people out in the street, clamoring on what a beautiful day it was.

As England signed each paper, his resentment for his work growing stronger. Between the Allies meetings, having to fight Germany, getting beaten up by Germany, bullying Italy, having to deal with that moron America, taking care of Peter, making sure that France wasn't doing anything stupid and this _damn paperwork_, England had no time to himself. He sighed as he heard the chatter of the people outside. It must be nice to have no responsibilities.

England's daze was suddenly interrupted at the small, sharp tug to his sleeve. England looked down to find that Peter was the one tugging, his sea-blue eyes staring up at the older blond. "Play?"

"Peter, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with France?" England asked, a bit surprised at the sight of the child.

"No. Wanna play with England." the boy's lip started to quiver, and he blinked up at England pleadingly. England groaned and rubbed his forehead. Somewhere, somehow, Peter had picked up the ability to pout, and it was irresistibly adorable. England had no way to counter it.

Defeated, England sighed, setting his work down. "Alright, then, what do you want to play?"

Smiling at his victory, Peter triumphantly climbed into England's lap, which told England that he would, once again, not get any work done that day. England thought that he should be at least a bit upset, but somehow, he wasn't.

"Wanna work with England." Peter said firmly.

England smiled, shaking his head. "I don't quite think that you're big enough to do that, Peter. Besides, my work isn't very fun."

The boy frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Wanna work."

England paused, running his hand though his hair. "Alright then, if you insist." He shuffled through the papers, trying to find one that he no longer needed. He pulled out a blank sheet and a wooden pencil, and then gave these things to the boy. He then set out more papers that he needed to sign, working as Peter sat in his lap. Maybe he would get some work done today after all. Peter's pleading face somewhat motivated him to finish so they could actually do something fun.

Peter paused, holding the pencil in his hand, unsure of what to do. He started to wave the pencil in the air, poking England's cheek with the eraser. Finding this amusing, he giggled, then continued to poke the older blond.

England couldn't help smiling. "Hey—quit that."

Peter laughed. "England, gotta tell you something."

England leaned down, holding the child in his arms. "What is it, Peter?"

"I love you."

England paused, his breath caught in his throat. It was an unexpected, and rather random comment, but it filled England heart to the brim with a warmth that he had not felt in centuries. Suddenly craving more, and wanting to hear the words from the child again, he pinched Peter's cheek. "What was that? Say it again, lad, I couldn't hear you well."

Peter laughed. "I love you, England!"

England's heart melted at the small boy's honest words. He pulled the boy closer, snuggling.

"I...I love you, too."

—**interlude end—**

**(A/N: A bit of pure fluff with absolutely no story, plotline, or relevance whatsoever, but it was cute, and it's a memory, so it counts for something.)**


	4. memories of who?

**Memories of a Different Time**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**By RishiandSquee**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own, but family fics are my favorite kind.**

**chapter three**

**Memories of-who?**

It was another warm day. Summer was at it's peak.

England stretched, yawning. The makeshift family was in the car, with France driving. England was in the passenger seat, baby Peter in his lap. Peter was happily prattling on about something, but England was too tired to try and translate the baby-talk.

"It was great of you to arrange this playdate." England mumbled, still sleepy. Peter had kept him up all night, insisting on playing, and England was too much of a pushover with the babe to say no.

"_Oui_, Canada wanted to meet the boy." France replied, pulling into Canada's driveway. "It came at a great time, too-we've been so busy lately, trying to take care of Peter and fight a war at the same time, no?"

England responded with a shrug. He always tried not to think about the war when he was with Peter.

Peter looked up at England, smiling. "Play?"

"Yes, Peter, you get to play today. Just not with us." England couldn't help but smile. The child was just so _cute_, and-though England hated to admit it-he bore a striking resemblance in the way he acted (but most _certainly_ not how he looked) to that git former colony of his.

Peter blinked.

France chose that moment to pluck the boy out of England's lap. "Now, Peter, you are to behave yourself. Understood?" he said sternly as he walked up to Canada's door. He gave three sharp knocks. "Matthew? Are you awake yet?" he called.

The door opened, and Canada stood there, out of breath. "G-good morning, Francis." he whispered. It was obvious in his eyes that he was excited.

France smiled at the sight of the breathless boy. "Ah, Matthew, how are you doing today? Are you ready to take care of our little Peter?" he asked pleasantly.

Canada smiled. "Y-yes! I have lots of things to do. I have toys, and games, and a walker..." he continued to list items on his fingers.

"Right! Well, I'm sure you'll do fine" France said as he placed the child into Canada's arms. "Now, Peter, England and France have to leave now, but we'll be back soon, okay? And Matthew here will take good care of you." he tousled the child's hair and kissed his cheek. "We will be back later." he smiled, and nearly skipped back to the car.

Canada softly chuckled as the car drove off. "So, Peter, I have lots of fun games." he said, taking the baby into the house, shutting the door behind him. He gently set the squirming child into an old walker, where the baby began to squirm even more, upset about being contained.

"Maphew,"-Canada blushed slightly at the mispronunciation of his name-"Maphew, hungry!" the child whined.

Canada giggled. "Alright, then, what do you want to eat?" he asked, taking the baby into the kitchen. "I have lots of yummy food, like squashed beans and carrots and-"

"No!" the child pouted.

The unnoticeable country paused, confused. "W-what do you want, then?"

"Food! Ihnglan an Jiih eat food!"

"Y-you mean the kind of food that France and England eat?"

The babe nodded enthusiastically, as if it were the most simple thing in the world to understand.

"A-ah...I don't think you're big enough for that kind of food, Peter." Canada said, shaking his head. "Sorry. When you get bigger, okay?"

The baby's face furrowed. He started to cry. "Food! Food!" he wailed.

Canada started to become frantic-until he had an idea. His curly hair bounced as he smiled. "A-actually, I have an idea!" he said, scooping the child out of the walker and heading into the kitchen.

Canada set the child down on the floor and quickly started to whip up a batch of pancakes. He hummed a happy little tune as the child looked on curiously. After a few minutes, Canada set down the pan, letting the pancakes cool. He picked up Peter and gave him an Eskimo kiss, nuzzling noses. Peter gurgled in delight.

Finally, after another few moments, Canada tasted the breakfast treat. After deciding that it was cool enough, he cut up a tiny piece of the pancake, then, after dipping it into some maple syrup, fed it to the curious baby.

Peter's face immediately brightened. "Uma! Maphew!" he cried in delight. "Uhmmy!"

Canada laughed. "It's the house special. Everyone at my place loves maple syrup and pancakes." he turned his back, searching for something for the child to drink. "What do babies drink, other then milk?" he said to himself as he shuffled through the cabinets.

Peter began to crawl out of the kitchen as soon as Canada's back was turned, curious about his new playhouse. He crawled onto the soft carpeting of the hallway and stood, a bit wobbly on his feet. He giggled as he toddled through the house, exploring, until he caught sight of a small, furry animal that was pure white. He immediately shouted out in surprise.

"Ah!"

Kumajiro turned. "Hm? Who are you?" he asked.

Peter began running towards the polar bear. He made it about halfway down the hallway before tripping. The child fell flat on his face, the fall cushioned by the plushy rug.

Kumajiro continued to stare. Slowly, he made his way over to the fallen baby, examining him. The boy was still laying on the rug, face flat. Kumajiro poked Peter, and the baby giggled. Then, noticing that the two were about the same size, he grabbed Peter's shirt gently with his mouth and tugged him up. "You look familiar." Kumajiro sniffed. "You smell familiar, too. Who are you?"

Peter looked up at Kumajiro and promptly grabbed the polar bear's cheeks. His eyes widened in astonishment at the fuzziness. He started to feel Kumajiro's soft fur. "Wah! Blanket!" he snuggled with the soft bear.

Kumajiro blinked, then hugged back, confused. "Who are you?"

"Peta!" the baby replied gleefully, delighted in the softness of Kumajiro. "Peta!"

"Who?"

Peter's face became puzzled. After his moment, his face broke out into another grin. "Ihnglan!"

Kumajiro tilted his head. "Oh, England. That's who you look like." the polar bear patted Peter on the head. "You're mini-England."

Peter continued to giggle. "Peta Ihnglan." the name somehow appealed to the boy. "Peta Ihnglan."

Kumajiro paused for a second, then took Peter's hand. "Come on." he said, tugging the boy. "I've got toys to play with."

Peter held onto Kumajiro's paw, delighted in the softness of it. He happily toddled with the polar bear, completely forgetting about Canada.

Kumajiro led Peter into a large room. In it were dozens of colorful toys. The toys were a bit dusty and very old, but they looked well taken care of. Kumajiro wobbled over to a large, bouncy ball. He picked it up and brought it to Peter, handing it to the boy.

Peter took the ball, almost hesitantly, and gasped at its smoothness. Gently, he let go and watched the ball roll away, completely captivated. He followed the ball, picking it up. Peter let go of it again and watched it roll. He ran after it, and repeated his actions. This went on for quite a while, and Kumajiro, obviously bored, curled up fell asleep.

"Ah-found it! Peter, I found you something to drink-" Canada looked back to where Peter had been, only to find an empty kitchen. Canada's face fell. "Peter? Where are you?" he called, getting down from the counter-he was forced to look in the very top cabinets to find something suitable for the child to drink-and onto the floor. He looked around the kitchen frantically, even in some of the lower cabinets, but the child was nowhere to be found.

The quiet country immediately began to search his living quarters high and low, beginning to panic. _What if he went outside? Can he even walk? Oh, Francis and Arthur are going to kill me...!_

Finally, Canada found the child playing in one of the rooms-the one where Canada had taken out all his old toys for the boy. Kumajiro was curled up in the corner, asleep.

The babe looked up at the panicked Canada. "Maphew!" he cried cheerfully, holding up the ball. "Play!"

Canada let out a sigh of relief. He leaned down and hugged Peter. "Oh, thank goodness you're okay. Mister Kamaguchi must have found you."

Peter smiled. "Blanket!" he shouted, pointing at Kumajiro. "Blanket!"

Canada looked at Peter, confused. "Huh? But that's Mister Kumahiro..."

"No! Blanket!" Peter jabbed his finger.

"Blanket." Kumajiro repeated.

"E-eh?"

**~end chapter three~**


	5. Memories of Aru

**Memories of a Different Time**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**By RishiandSquee**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own, but this fic is becoming more and more fun to write.**

**Memories of Aru**

Summer was ending, but the warm weather still persisted. England mumbled as the sun shone through his windows, which he had neglected to close the previous night. The blond was exhausted, as was becoming the norm these days. He groaned inwardly as he heard the pitter-patter of small feet. _Please let that be my imagination. Please let Peter still be asleep._ he thought to himself.

Of course life, as almost everything else in England's life, loved to prove him wrong. Soon, the child started to call for him.

"En-gland! England! France!"

England pulled the pillow over his head. "Francis, Peter's calling for you." he yelled, still half-asleep.

He heard the door open. England rolled over, pretending that he was still half asleep, and praying Peter would leave him be, even if it were for just another ten minutes.

"England! Wake up!" the child began to tug at England's covers. "Wake up, lazy!" A giggle.

Sighing, England rolled over again so he was facing Peter, but his eyes were still closed. "What is it, boy? You couldn't wait another four minutes? How did you even get out of the crib, anyway?"

"Peter's big!" England could hear the pout in the child's voice. "I can do it by myself!"

England had to admit that the child had grown substantially in a small amount of time-he had gone from looking like a two year old to looking like a four year old in only a few months. So much had been happening, and the child was growing so quickly. England felt a little sad as he realized that.

Slowly, England rolled over again so his face was now muffled in the pillow. "Issat so, Peter? I guess you're getting ready for a regular bed, anyway."

"Like England?"

England laughed softly. "Yeah, like England."

The blankets shifted as Peter climbed onto the fairly high bed. He crawled under the covers and snuggled next to England. "I'm big." he said gleefully.

"You sure are, Peter. It wasn't long ago that you couldn't even pronounce my name, and here you are. You've become quite a big bugger, haven't you?" at this point, England began sleepily rambling whatever came into his head.

"Ah, you're awake?" France's voice floated into the room as the door opened.

England groaned, then finally opened his eyes. Peter and France greeted his vision. Both were dressed, and France was looking at England as if he were a nitwit. England groaned again. "Where are we going?" he asked sleepily.

"Did you really forget, Arthur?" France said sharply. "We are going to the Allies meeting!"

England grabbed the pillow and put it over his face, muffling France's nagging tone. "Do we have to go? What's the penalty if we don't?"

"Either America or Russia will come over and try to play with Peter."

Silence. England lay there for a moment, contemplating. Finally, he shot up out of bed, throwing the covers off his body. He jumped up, grabbing the nearby clothes he had strategically laid out, and slammed the door to his bathroom. France chuckled, picking Peter up. "Well, Peter, I'm sure that we're all going to have fun today, no?"

Peter grinned. "Yeah!"

**-Oo-Oo-**

"They're late again, aru." China said amusingly, almost teasingly. "It makes me wonder what they're doing right before the meetings, aru."

America rolled his eyes, laughing. "If I know England, he's gonna try and ditch again! Ha ha ha!" He had recovered from his last meeting with England quite quickly-or at least he looked it.

At that moment, England slammed open the door to the room, scoffing. He was followed by an ever-so-cheerful France, holding the hand of the golden haired child. "We're here, everyone~!" France called, grinning.

Peter looked around at the meeting room, holding a stuffed polar bear in the arm that France was not holding. He had his thumb in his mouth, and looked around in awe.

Russia smiled at the boy. "Ah, lunch?"

China cooed, picking up Peter. "Hello there, little one-aru!" he said, placing the child on his lap. "You've gotten so big since last time-aru."

"China? What do you think you're doing?" England began to fuss, only to receive a sharp glare from the older country.

"Calm down, aru. He's not bothering me."

Peter stared up at China, taking in the sight of the larger country. Suddenly, he noticed something interesting about the man's face.

"Ponytail."

Peter pointed up at China's long hair, which was wrapped up in a ponytail, as usual. He giggled, proud of himself. "Ponytail."

China grinned. "That's right-aru. I have a ponytail-aru." he said, flushing a bit at the child's unapologetic, straight-forward nature.

Peter continued to stare, until a large grin started to form on his face. He grabbed China's ponytail in delight. "Aroo!" he laughed. "Birdies say aroo! Is China a bird?"

England started to stand up, in order to scold the boy, but was stopped by France's hand, indicating for the former pirate to pause for a moment. "England, _mon cher_," France had a smile playing on his face. "Why don't we let China handle this one, _oui_?"

China lifted the child into the air, attempting to get the child to let go of his hair. "Hey, aru! That's not very respectful, aru." he scolded. However, the boy's grip only tightened as China struggled. Peter continued to giggle maniacally. After a few moments, China began to smile, too.

"Aiyaah, you're a very naughty child, aren't you-aru?" he said chidingly. "Naughty and energetic is good for a growing boy, but you have to learn your manners someday-aru. Has England been trying to teach you anything, or is he letting you run as a wild child-aru?" At this, England began to blush.

Peter paused for a moment, which was just enough time to get China to wrestle the child's hand out of his hair. "England told me to say please." he replied. "That count?"

China continued to smile. "That counts plenty, aru." he said, nuzzling the child. The other countries stared in shock as the normally aloof country showered Peter affection. "You're so cute-aru."

"Yeah! 's what England always says!" Peter said, grinning, looking over at the green-eyed country. In response, England began to blush, then his head met the desk in a loud _thunk_.

China frowned. "That's not very respectful, aru." he scoffed at England. "Your little brother has paid you a wonderful compliment, aru. Many people in my country would die in order to have a little brother this respectful, aru."

Peter began to giggle again. "Aroo."

China looked down again at the child, and for some reason, he was reminded of Hong Kong. Even though this blond, fair-eyed child who smiled much too often was ever-so-different from the sulking, dark-haired boy he loved, China looked at the boy and saw a projection of Hong Kong, the boy who somehow made his way to the center of China's heart, only to be taken by the man whom this little one called "brother". China' s eyes narrowed slightly, but only for a moment.

"Peter, how about I take you someplace fun today-aru?" the ancient country asked, bouncing Peter on one knee.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Let's go!" he responded, eyes wide and shining.

"Now, wait just a second, China-!"

"Calm down, aru!" China said sharply, putting Peter on his back. "I'll bring him back, aru. Quit whining!"

America grinned. He couldn't help it. Ignoring England's protests, he picked up a few papers, trying to look like a leader. "So, China will be absent from today's meeting?" At this, Russia let out a small whine.

China quickly shifted Peter so he could bow without the child falling. "My apologies, aru. But yes, I am." Quickly, he straightened up. "Bye-bye, aru!" he called, dashing out of the meeting room and away from England's everlasting protests.

England's face immediately met the desk with another loud _thunk_. He was obviously defeated. France looked over to England and chuckled, tousling England's gold hair. "What's the matter, England?" he said jokingly.

"I'm losing to China."

"That's only natural, England. A child's parents are not supposed to be as fun as their friends, no?" At this remark, America and Russia looked at each other, as if to say _'China and Peter are friends?'_ Nevertheless, France continued to soothe England. "It would be strange any other way."

**-Oo-Oo-**

"So where is Aru taking me?" Peter asked, clinging to China's shoulders to keep from falling. China was still running at a brisk pace.

"Somewhere fun, aru!" China replied, finally slowing down to a brisk walk, then stopping. He put the child down and smiled. "How does that sound aru?"

The child paused. "Okay, China!" He then tugged at China's sleeve. China looked down at the young boy. "What is it, aru?"

"Can we bring something back for England? He was sad when we left."

China paused, surprised that the tyke was still worried about the older man. "Of course, aru. But you're going to have to remember, okay aru?"

At this, the child laughed. "Of course I'll remember!"

No, this boy was not in the least bit like Hong Kong. And yet, there was something about him, something China could not place, that reminded him of the dark-haired boy. Hong Kong never smiled—he showed little to no expression. He was quiet, a good boy. The boy in front of him right now was no doubt rash, impulsive, and smiled more than most people ever did.

And yet...

The two reached China's destination after a moment—the eighth wonder of the world, the place that China showed off with pride.

Chinatown.

Peter looked in awe at the unfamiliar place, the brand-new, precious treasure. "What is this place? Is it par—pair a dice?"

"To some, it is-aru." China said proudly. "It is the crescent jewel of all my hard work aru."

"Wow! 's so different!" Peter gaped at the new culture. Suddenly, he tugged on China's sleeve. "What's that?" he cried, pointing at a panda. "It looks like Blanket, 'cept it's black and white! What is it?"

"That's not a blanket-aru. That is a panda-aru." China informed the boy. "It is one of the most amazing animals in my country."

"It looks like Matt's polar bear, Blanket." Peter commented, still staring at the panda. He let go of China's sleeve and ran over to the large animal. China giggled slightly as Peter started to pet it. The panda didn't seem hostile, and China knew it wouldn't hurt the boy. Peter snuggled the strange new creature. "Can I take him home to England? I'm sure he'd want one of these at his house."

"I don't think that would work out well-aru. Pandas are rather large, and they eat only certain things-aru. I'm not sure your England would have the supplies necessary to take care of one-aru." China paused, hand on his chin. "But there might be a better way to solve that-aru."

Peter let go of the panda, running back over to the older country. "Really? What, what? Tell me!" he insisted. "Wanna take one back to England!"

China pointed over to a small stand, which was selling stuffed versions of the majestic animal. "Tell the man over there that I sent you, and he will give you one-aru."

As soon as the words were out of China's mouth, Peter dashed off. "Hey, mister, can I have a panda please?" he called, waving. China gazed on, affection in his eyes.

_No. They're not the same at all._

_I wonder if you were like this as a child, too, England._

**-Oo-Oo-**

France looked over to England. "Hey, England, the meeting's over with. You can take your head off the table now. Or do you wish to continue sulking? I'll go pick up Peter by myself."

"I'll come. But don't be surprised if I have to fight China for him back…and lose!" England banged his fist on the table.

"Don't be such a worrywart. I'm sure that China hasn't done anything to mentally scar the poor boy. After all, it's only been a day." France tried not to laugh at the worrisome older brother before him. How long had it been since France had seen England fret over something so often? No doubt it had been since Alfred.

England made a small, whining noise. "Francis, you're a stupid frog." He groaned.

At that moment, Peter tackle-hugged England. "England!" he yelled happily, snuggling with the older blond. "I'm back!"

England made another noise—France was sure that it was a squeal—as he shot up in excitement, whisking the young boy into the air. "Peter! Boy, how was your time with China?"

"England, Mister China was really nice." Peter said proudly. "Oh, I got you something, too." The child fished into his pocket, bringing out the small stuffed animal. He handed it to England with pride. "It's a panda." Peter informed the Brit. "I wanted to get you a real one, but it was too big."

England put Peter back onto the ground, his eyes filling with warm tears.

_Even after all that time with China, Peter was still thinking of me? And he even wanted to bring me a real panda? _

"E-eh? England? W—hey, no crying! He's not a real panda, but if you pretend, he can talk and fly and do all sorts of stuff! Don' cry! Hey!"

_Oh, God, what did I do to deserve such a precious little boy?_

**~chapter five end**


	6. Memories of a Rabbit

**Memories of a Different Time**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**By RishiandSquee**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own, but you should know **

**that already.**

**Memories of A Rabbit**

Peter tiptoed through the house. It was early afternoon, and the house was completely silent. Peter was often bored on days like this— days where France and England were far too busy for him. The boy wandered through each room aimlessly, pondering on what he should do, nothing in any of the rooms perking his interest. The boy's brows furrowed as he chewed on his lip, having no better ideas.

Finally, Peter walked into England's study, where he found the blond absorbed in his work. England did not acknowledge the child's presence— his eyes were glued down at the ever-increasing stack of papers. He scanned each paper before either discarding it or signing it and putting it into another pile. Peter rocked back and forth on his feet, waiting for England to look up. After a few restless minutes of this, Peter finally spoke.

"England, will you play with me?"

England jolted his head up. "Peter? When did you get in here...? No matter. I'm sorry, lad, but I'm a bit busy at the moment." the older blond gave Peter a small smile. "Cheer up, though, I'll be done in no time. Why don't you ask Francis to play with you? I'm sure he'd be more then delighted."

As he said this, the Brit went back to his papers, obviously intent on being absorbed in them for quite a while. Peter made a small whine, but it went unheard, at least to England.

After another few agonizingly long moments, the boy then decided that it was time to leave England to his work. He walked out of the study, making sure to carefully close the door behind him. Peter ran into the kitchen, where he found his surrogate uncle busy at work, making a particularly large meal. France had told Peter what it was for, but the boy had forgotten. Peter chewed on his lip as he watched France stir whatever he had made in a large metal pot over the stove. He waited another minute before speaking.

"Jii, can you play with me?"

France turned his head towards the child. He smiled warmly. "Ah, I wish I could, Peter, but this meal won't be done for quite a few hours. I need to have it ready for the Allie's party for tonight." France put down the wooden spoon and walked over to Peter, picking him up. "Why don't you ask Arthur to play with you? I'm sure he'd love to. You are his favorite person in the world, after all." he said, grinning.

Peter pouted. "I just asked him to play with me, but he said he was busy." he whined, pointing towards the hallway for emphasis. "He said he had lots of work to do, and that he would play with me later, and to ask you if you would play with me. He hardly looked up at me."

France's face fell. "Ah, I see." he said simply, putting the boy down. "I'm sorry, _mon cher,_ but I can finish this up soon, and then we can play, alright?" France smiled at the boy, trying to cheer up the obviously melancholic child.

Peter heaved a large sigh. He stomped out of the kitchen, and then broke into a run down the hallway until he reached England's room. The blond child flopped himself on the large bed. After a few moments of silent fuming, he began to roll around, messing up the covers as much as he could. Unsatisfied, Peter heaved the blankets into the air and then tossed them onto the ground with a grunt, a scowl beginning to form on his face. Then, beginning to think about the consequences for his actions, he hesitantly started to pick up the heavy blankets. As angry at Peter was, he hated getting scolded.

As Peter somehow got the entire blanket—which was at least three times his tiny size—onto the bed, he noticed a small object that had been pushed under the bed frame. Curiosity perked in the child's head as he got down onto his knees and reached for it. Peter's eyes widened as he touched the soft object. He brought it out of the darkness of under the bed and let out a scream.

It took three seconds for England to burst into the room. His eyebrows rose with horror as he saw the scene laying out before him—the bed covers askew on the bed and Peter on the floor, curled up into a ball and trembling. His arms were tucked tightly into his chest. England ran to Peter, his mind racing with what could have happened. "Peter? What's wrong, lad?" he kneeled down, breathless, as he examined his younger brother. "Peter, are you hurt?" he asked softly, gently shaking the boy.

Peter sat up, a wide grin on his face. In his arms was a stuffed rabbit. The toy was a creamy light brown, with a white stomach and large, pink ears. "England! What's this?" he asked excitedly, waving the rabbit in England's face.

England sighed, relieved, then his face dropped like a ton of bricks as he started to recognize the object that Peter was holding in his arms—it was America's old stuffed rabbit.

"What is it, England? I've never seen anything like it!"

"It—it's a toy." England murmured. "It's a toy rabbit."

Peter looked at the new treasure in his hands as if it was the Holy Grail. "It's a toy? But it's soft! Not like my boat at all!" — England couldn't help but smile at the child, but his eyes retained their sad disposition as the child chatted— "Hey, what's his name, England?"

"E-excuse me?" England blinked, then glanced away, crossing his arms. "His name? Well...It seems like I can't recall it."

"Eh? But he's yours, isn't he, England?" Peter replied, confused. "It's your rabbit, right? Can you not remember his name?"

England paused and bit the inside of his lip. After a moment, he let out a long, shaky breath. "Well...no, not really. I don't even know how it got out here...where in the world did you find it?"

Peter stood up, still clutching the rabbit in his arms. "I found it under your bed." he informed the Brit. Hesitantly, he thrust the stuffed animal at England. "H-here you go. It's yours."

England was slightly staggered at his younger brother's kindness. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Peter, I'm not exactly sure how it got there, but you can have it." he assured the child. "I'm sure you'll take very care for it very well. It's alright; I _want_ you to have him."

Peter's face brightened "Thanks a bunch, England!" He immediately became set on cuddling his new friend tightly.

England's throat tightened, the painful memories that he had tried so desperately to shut out overflowing. His brow quivered a bit as he tried to keep his breathing steady, at least in front of Peter, who knew nothing about America and England's past relationship. England forced himself to smile. "Well, I'm really glad you like it...Peter."

Peter's eyes brightened. "Oh! England, can I give him a new name? I can, right? I'm gonna call him Peter, like the rabbit in the story!"

The blond child giggled, and England couldn't help but smile with him, and despite trying desperately to fight the pain in his heart, he meant it. "I'm glad you like it, Peter." he said as he carefully stood up and quietly made his way towards the door. "Well, I have a lot of work that I should be getting back to, so I'll be going now— "

"Wait, England!"

England froze. He focused his eyes on the opposite wall, not turning to Peter. "What is it, lad? Make it quick."

Peter suddenly turned shy, his cheeks flushing red. "T-thank you." he said softly. "I promise to take good care of him, and love him, and protect him."

England's shoulders stiffened. He silently walked down the hall to his study and shut the door. Peter tilted his head, a troubled look on his face. Sensing that England was not himself, he stood, still holding onto the rabbit, and followed England's footsteps. He opened the door as silently as he could, but he had no need to. The older brother had his head buried in his arms at the desk, oblivious to the world. His shoulders shook slightly on occasion, and Peter bit his lip again before speaking.

"...England?"

England looked up, blushing. "What is it, Peter?" he asked, confused, and slightly embarrassed when Peter caught sight of the tiny tears that had begun forming in his eyes.

Peter marched up to England's desk and stubbornly squirmed his way into England's lap. He snuggled close to the now baffled England. "England, I'm going to stay with you until you stop being sad."

"I-I'm not sad." England stuttered.

Peter continued to snuggle, despite England's protests. "Then, England, I'm sad. Stay with me until I'm not."

The older blond lowered his brows at the tiny child. England had to admit, Peter's persistence was admirable—almost admirable enough to make England cry all over again. He held his little brother close. "Thank you. I love you so much, Peter." he whispered in the boy's ear. Peter nodded in response, and the two quietly held each other as England silently cried.

**~end**


	7. Memories of a Different Older Brother

**Memories of a Different Time**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own, but this is fun!**

**Memories of a Different Brother**

**[A/N: Thank you all very much for supporting this fic! =^^= I'll keep doing my best, mkay?]]**

—**oO—Oo—**

Summer was beginning to end. Both France and England were fast asleep that day, exhausted from a mix of their meetings and playing, so Peter was given the task of watching the house by himself until one of them woke up. The boy**—**who was starting to look more like a six year old**—**munched on snacks, pleased with being able to do whatever he wanted.

As the day started to near noon, Peter was starting to get bored—he had already jumped on the couch, found all the snacks hidden in the house, eaten all those snakes, jumped on the couch some more, ran around in nothing but his underwear, and had even drawn all over France's face with markers.

It had just started to become a boring day when there was a knock at the door.

Peter looked up as the knocks became louder and more frequent. He made his way to the front door, the bangs on the door growing louder still. He finally reached the door and peeked through the mail slot—he was much too small to reach the eyehole. What he saw was a pair of dark blue pants and brown boots. Peter frowned. That didn't tell him much.

"Who is it?" Peter finally asked warily.

"Eh? Who th' hell is answering th'damn door?" A deep masculine voice barked back at Peter. "This is Scotland. Tell that ass England that I'm here to see him."

Peter paused. He was specifically told to not answer the door to strangers, but this man knew who England was. That meant he wasn't a stranger, didn't it?

"Who are you to England?"

There was a snort from the other side of the door. "Tch, that's what I'd like t' know. I'd assume I'm nothing to 'im."

"If you're nothing to England, then I'm not supposed to let you in." Peter replied firmly.

Another snort. "You're a cheeky little brat, ain'tcha? I'm his older brother, Scotland."

Peter's face immediately brightened. He fumbled with the locks, trying to undo the top latch, which he could hardly reach. After a few moments, he threw open the door, grinning. "If you're England's brother, that makes you my brother, too!"

The person who stood before Peter was a particularly large man, with fiery red hair that came out of his head in tuffs,. His large eyebrows were cocked downwards to show displeasure, and his green eyes pierced right through the boy. There was a cigarette jammed in his mouth. The man—Scotland—looked at Peter with almost surprise, for a long moment. "Well, wouldja lookit that." he grinned wily. "Aye, you be a mini-England, small stuff."

The child stared up, wide-eyed, at the redhead in wonder. "England has big brothers?" he asked in awe.

Scotland shrugged. "Course he does, brat Why don' ya ask that stupid little brother o' mine about all o' us?"

"Can't. He and Jii are sleeping right now." Peter informed the older man smartly. He started to tug on Scotland's sleeve. "Anyway, come in, Big brother Scotland! Come in an' sit down!"

Scotland, mildly irritated, walked into the house, scowling as Peter continued to tug on his sleeve. At the older country's glare, Peter let go of him, almost pouting. The redhead sat down in a chair, only to have the blond immediately climb onto his lap. "So, Big Brother Scotland, how come you don't live with England?" he pestered, still wide eyed.

The redhead paused, then propped his chin on the palm of his hand. "Why don'cha ask 'im that for me, too, squirt?"

Peter pouted. "My name is _not_ squirt." he informed the older man. "It's Peter."

Scotland took a drag from the cigarette in his mouth. "Hnn. Good t' know." he replied, starting to bounce the leg that Peter was on.

The boy smiled. "So, Big Brother Scotland, why're you here?" he asked.

Subtlety was not one of Peter's strong points.

Scotland stared at the child, then burst out laughing. "Ha ha! You cut right to the chase, don'cha, squirt?" he grinned, ruffling Peter's head. "Yer a chip off the ol' block, ain'cha? Just like England's brat, t'say somethin' like that!"

The boy frowned. "I told you, my name is _Peter_, and I'm _not_ a brat!" he insisted at the older man, who simply continued to guffaw.

"Aye...you remind me o' England as a brat, y'know that?" the older man grinned, taking another drag of the cigarette. "And while I'm thinkin' of it, one other brat, too."

Peter blinked. "I do?"

"Tch, yeah you do. Mor' then I'd like to remember." Scotland suddenly made a face like he had eaten something disgusting. "Ugh, now that I'm rememberin', I need a drink."

The blond smiled, taking how he reminded the older man of England as a compliment. "So, then, what didja come over for, Big Brother Scotland?"

Scotland groaned, already getting tired of the overly-chipper child. "I came t'talk t' my brother."

Peter's face brightened. "England's asleep right now, but I'm your brother, too!"

"Englan'd be the one I wanna talk to at th' moment, squirt."

The boy frowned, almost pouting. "You mean you don't want to talk with me? But I'm bored! You can't leave now, Big Brother Scotland! You just can't!"

Scotland sighed irritably. "Fine, fine, squirt, but what d'ya s'ppose we talk about, hnn?"

Peter's brows furrowed for a moment, before he brightened up with an idea. "Let's talk about England!" he exclaimed excitedly, at which the redhead gave an apathetic shrug to. "England's always real nice to me! He's a great big brother!" The boy started to snuggle Scotland, much to the older man's horror. "Were you a good big brother to England, too?"

The redhead merely rolled his eyes. The child studied him for another moment, until finally, he stood up, tugging at Scotland's sleeve. "Hey, hey, d'ya wanna see something fun I did to Jii?"

Scotland blinked. "Who?"

"France-jii! He's sleeping right now, and I had some fun!" Peter giggled, obviously remembering something mischievous he had done. "Here, let me show you!"

—**oO—Oo—**

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Look at what you did, squirt!"

Scotland's merry**—**if somewhat disturbing—laugh filled the room of the Frenchman. France was laying on his bed, still deeply asleep, covers askew, with large black lines drawn all over his face and his bare chest. Next to him was a black marker. Scotland didn't need to ask in order to connect the dots.

"Ba ha ha! Nice going there, squirt!" the redhead childishly pointed his finger at France, tears nearly spouting out of his eyes. "Jeezus, lookit that! You got 'im really good, didn'ya?"

Peter smiled in return. "Yeah, Jii did it to England once, and I wanted to try it!"

Scotland continued to guffaw. "Jeezus, when was the last time I ever did this? Bah, must have been before I left this house! I can' even remember!"

The boy studied the older man for another moment. "...you don't like England, do you?"

"Ah? Well, I don't dislike 'im." Scotland continued to grin. "I just _hate_ 'im, is all."

Peter's face fell. "...oh."

Realizing the child's downtrodden face, Scotland also frowned. "Aye, that don't mean I don' like you, though, squirt."

Peter's brows furrowed. "...England said that big brothers should always love their little brothers, and always try to protect them." Peter continued to study the redhead, obviously disappointed.

"Izzat so? Wonder who taught 'im that." Scotland rolled his eyes again, a distasteful look on his face. Then, noticing how his mood was affecting the child, he pinched Peter's cheeks. "Aye, aye, don' be getting all downtrodden, lad. You needn't worry about it."

Peter pouted slightly at being treated like a child. "Okay, if you say so." He pursed his lips. Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he grabbed Scotland's sleeve and tugged him into the hallway. "Oh, that's right! You wanted to see England, right? I think that if I wake him up now, he won't be grumpy."

"Ah. I did come here t' do that, didn't I?"

Peter smiled. "I'll go get him!" Quickly, the boy dashed up the stairs and out of sight.

He opened the door to England's room quietly, not wanting to disturb him right away.. The nation was still sleeping soundly, his covers tucked tightly around him. Peter giggled as he tiptoed over to the bedside. "Hey, England, wake up, you have someone here to see you." he said, shaking the older nation. "Hey, England, wake up!"

"Nnn? Whossit?" England mumbled, rolling over.

"It's your big brother, Scotlan—"

Peter was unable to finish the sentence before England shot up, a terrified look on his face, his mouth hung slightly open. The older blond quickly dove back under the covers, shaking. "I'm busy! Tell him I'm busy! The last thing I want to do as soon as I wake up is talk to _him_!"

Peter's throat tightened at the sight of his older brother in such a state. "R-right. I'll tell him that!" he quickly retreated from the room before England could say or do anything more.

The child ran down the stairs and looked over to Scotland. "Sorry, Big Brother Scotland, but he's busy right now."

Scotland had gone back to sitting on the couch, his arm propping up his chin. "Tch. Figures. He's running away now, is he?" he said, unfazed. "Tell 'im to get his ass down here, or I'll be the one going up t' get him next."

Peter blinked. "B-but Scotland—"

The redhead quickly cut off the child by standing up and clamping his hand on the blonde's head, scuffling his hair. "I'll be having none of that pouting puppy dog look of yers. Hold on, Squirt, I'll be right back."

With that being said, Scotland strode past the child, climbing up the wooden stairs, two at a time. He made his way over to England's room—it was the same as when Scotland had lived there—and opened the door with more force then was required. "Aye, Artie, your big brother comes t'see ya, an' you don't have the balls to meet with 'im? I'm hurt, really."

The ball of covers curled up on the edge of the bed groaned. England sat up from the mess and looked up at his redheaded older brother sleepily, yet obviously frightened. "What in God's name do you want?"

Scotland took one look at the trembling blond and sighed. "Jeezus, Artie, y'really haven't changed, have ya?" he walked over leisurely to England, obviously lapping up England's fear gleefully. "Still scared shitless a' things y'can't handle, hnn? I just wanted t'know who the squirt was."

England gulped, unable to tear his eyes away from the redhead. "What's it any business of yours?"

"Aww, Artie, 'm hurt, really." Scotland grabbed England by the hair, scuffling the blond locks rather roughly. "_What's with the squirt, Artie?_" he repeated in a hiss.

England's eyes widened in fear. "W—he's my little brother, obviously! Now get your hands off of me!" England started to squirm, desperate to get away from Scotland as soon as he possibly could.

The redhead flashed an evil grin. "Aye, I think y'mean he's _our_ little brother." he retorted casually.

"W—why in the world would you want to be his older brother? You certainly _hate_ being one to me. And look at what a horrid example you would make!" England began to fuss, despite his fear. "If I had the choice, you wouldn't be able to get three _miles_ near Peter, you hear me?"

Scotland rolled his eyes, tightening his grip. "That's not what I said. Y'really don't listen, do ya, Artie? I be _correcting_ you—he's ain't just _your_ tyke."

England didn't reply. He gazed off to the side, avoiding Scotland's eyes. Scotland chuckled. "He looks like quite the handful. Good thing y'got that French bastard t' help ya. 's funny, I thought y'hated the creep."

"What's it to you?" England replied harshly. "Why are you even bothering me?"

The redhead paused for a moment, then shrugged, still grinning. "Aye, Artie, what're your panties in a bunch fer, hnn? As for why I'm here..." he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I think I was originally here t' kick yet ass, but somehow, I don't feel like it anymore, thanks t' that brat of yers."

"Don't call him a brat."

Scotland's bushy eyebrows rose. "What was that?"

"I said don't call Peter a brat. He has a name, you know." England glared off to the side, a scowl across his face.

"...Peter, then." Scotland said, finally releasing England from his grip. "Well, then, Artie, you better be takin' good care of Peter, aye?"

"You don't need to tell me twice." the blond retorted.

"...aye. Y'better not be doin' things to make 'im cry. Otherwise..." Scotland left his sentence hanging, a creepy smile replacing his barely sane look. "Y'hear?"

England's eyebrows scrunched. _Why do you have to be so intimidating all the time...?_ he thought to himself in frustration.

"'s because I'm yer older brother." Scotland said, reading England's mind. England flushed red, a slight hint of shame in his expression. The redhead jabbed England's chest. "There be no more screwing up with these kids, aye? I don't want t'listen to ya gripe about how much you sucked at raisin' the brat later on." For a slight second, England could have sworn that he could almost see softness in his older brother's expression. "I hate havin' to lecture ya about these things, y'hear?"

England lowered his eyes, still flushing. "Fine."

Scotland returned to his normal expression, his green eyes shining. "Well, then, Artie, I better be leaving ya. Y'got a squirt waitin' for ya."

England shot another look at his older brother. "Scotland, I thought I said—"

The older man burst out laughing. "Why so serious? The squirt's a squirt until he grows up!"

England ran his hand through his hair, irritated. "Peter hates being treated like a child. Nicknames like that make him upset, and I hate when Peter gets upset."

"Aah, so he's just like that other brat, hnn? What was his name...Alfred?"

England's eyes narrowed. "Why are you comparing Peter to that git? They're nothing alike!" he snapped, his expression twisting into something angry, rather then fearful.

"Ain't they? They sure as hell got the same complex with yo—"

"God_dammit, _Scotland! They're _nothing_ alike!" England stood up, throwing the covers off of the bedside. He glared accusingly at the redhead. "How dare you try to make comparisons between things you scarcely know about?"

Scotland backed away, almost mockingly, with his hands in the air. "Aye, aye, no reason t'be makin' a fight outta a simple statement, Artie."

"_Get the hell out of my house!_"

—**oO—Oo—**

It was another hour before England had calmed down enough to go down the stairs and meet with the blond child. Scotland was long gone.

Peter stood up from where he had been innocently playing and smiled at England as he walked down the stairs,. "England, you're finally awake!" he exclaimed.

England smiled. "Yes, I am. Sorry I was asleep for so long. What would you like to do?"

"Well, I wanted to show you what I did to Jii.."

England smiled, trying to ignore the dark feeling inside his heart, as Peter went on about his exciting day.

This was the way things should be.

**~to be continued, next chapter...**


	8. Memories of The Bad Touch Trio

**Memories of a Different Time**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own, but this chapter is going to be my favorite.**

**Hands down.**

**Memories of the Bad Touch Trio**

—**oO—Oo—**

France looked around the empty hallway.

Good. England was nowhere to be seen.

France started to tiptoe, shushing a giggling Peter. "Shh, _mon cher_, you must be quiet." he whispered to the giddy child. "Jii is going to take you somewhere fun today, but you have to be quiet so England doesn't notice us—"

"Francis, just where do you think you're taking Peter?"

France inwardly groaned. Like a fly to the flame, France's shushing seemed to draw England's attention. He must learn to speak more quietly.

Grinning, France ducked his head into England's study, where the nation sat, looking at many papers, absorbed—but not absorbed enough to let France do what he wanted. "Ah, _mon cher_. I didn't realize you were in here. You're always working so hard, _non_? I was just going to take Peter out somewhere."

England did not look up from his papers. "Just where might that be, hnn?"

"Oh, you know, I was invited to a friend's house—"

That caught England's attention. He glanced up. "That friend better not be America." he warned warily.

"_Non, non_," France said, waving his hands. "I would never do something like that, Arthur. I know how you feel about Peter seeing Alfred." he said confidently. "I would never even _dream_ of it."

After a moment, England readjusted the papers in his hands. "Fine, then. But if you get into so much as one lick of trouble..."

France flipped his hair elegantly. "O hon hon—don't worry so much, Arthur. I never get caught."

"...somehow, I knew you were going to say something like that. Very well." England sighed, knowing that once France set his mind on something, almost nothing would get in his way of doing it.

—**oOOo—**

After quite a while of walking, France gently nudged Peter, who was dozing off—France had wound up carrying the child on his back. "_Mon cher_, we're here."

Peter rubbed his eyes, blinking. "Uweh? Where's here?"

The environment that Peter opened his eyes to was very much different from what he was used to seeing. There were many people on the streets, and it was sunny. Almost everyone smiled and waved as they passed. Peter immediately started to like this new place.

France passed by many shops that smelled delicious. He laughed as Peter started to point towards them. "_Non, non_, we are going somewhere much better." he shifted Peter's weight. "Look at that house, Peter. That is where we're going." he said, pointing.

Peter followed France's line of sight until he saw the house. It was a large house, even compared to the fairly big houses surrounding it. It was painted a bright red, with a green roof.

France casually walked up the pathway that made it's way to the strangely colored house and knocked on the door.

"Antonio!" he called. "Toni, _mon ami,_ we're here!"

The door was almost immediately opened by a kind looking fellow with curly auburn hair and large chocolate eyes. "Ah, Francis, _amigo_, how's it going, man?" he grinned, then motioned for France to come inside.

France grinned back, letting down the small child from his back as they entered the house. Peter, suddenly feeling shy, hid behind France, holding onto the older blonde's pant leg. "Ah, Spain, your house and country beautiful and unique as always—just like you are."

At this, the brown haired man—Spain—laughed. "Ah, Francis, flattery will get you everywhere with me, you know." he then turned his attention to the young boy who was hiding behind France. "And who is the little _amigo_ we have here, huh?"

Peter, realizing that Spain was talking about him, jumped a little bit. He quickly buried his face into France's clothes, blushing furiously. France laughed at Peter's sudden bashfulness. "Why, this is Peter, Toni. Peter, come out and say hello to Toni."

"So this is Peter, ah? I've heard lots of stories about you, little guy." Spain smiled, then turned his attention back to France. "He's yours and England's, no?"

France sighed. "Oh, if only he could be my precious child. Sadly, I'm nothing but a pervert of an uncle."

"Could've fooled me. He looks like they put you and England in a blender and mixed it." Spain replied, still grinning.

"Oh hon hon—you flatter me, Toni."

Peter began to peek from behind France at the auburn haired country, curious. After a moment of this, he went back to hiding. Spain squealed in delight. "He's so shy, it's cute!" he gushed.

"Naturally. Although, normally he's so energetic! Give him some time and he'll warm up to you soon. You have a way with children, Toni." France patted Spain's shoulder. "After all, you raised such a good child, no?"

Suddenly, a stomping sound came from the stairs. "Aiiiiii! Stupid Spain!" a voice yelled, and soon there was a younger man running down the stairs. He grabbed Spain's shoulders. "You stupid idiot! Where the hell di—" Suddenly noticing that France was in the room, he screeched even louder. "Aiiiiii! It's France! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, Romano." France replied cheerfully. "How are you today?"

"That's not an answer to my question!" Romano screamed.

Peter jumped, the loud voice of the young man scaring him a bit. Still, he peeked out from behind France again. "H-hello." he said bashfully.

Romano suddenly noticed the young boy. He looked from Spain, to France, back to Spain, then his eyes finally rested on Peter. "What's a kid doing here? And what's he doing with that bastard _France_?"

"Romaaaaaaaaaa, that's not a very nice thing to say." Spain whined. "They're obviously here because they came. And this is Peter. I've told you about him, remember? Unless you block out everything I say—which I wouldn't be surprised if you did, y'know."

Peter let go of France's pant leg, timidly walking over to Romano. He stared up, unblinking. Romano immediately started to blush. "Aiii, make him stop staring at me, you wine bastard!" he glared up at France.

France laughed. "He likes you because you're a child yourself, Roma."

"_That's not answering my question_!" Romano glared at the two older countries, and then at the child, though softer then his glares at the other two. "Why isn't he with someone his age? He must be sick of being forced to be in the same room as two perverts like you guys. God knows I am, and I've been dealing with you for hundreds of years."

"That's harsh, Romano." France whined.

Peter suddenly hugged Romano's legs. "Roma!" he said gleefully.

Romano's red face turned ever redder. "Aiiii! Get him off of me!"

The child let go, a bit surprised. He blinked up at the older Italy. "I-I'm sorry." he said sheepishly, blushing a bit himself.

Romano glanced down at Peter, then picked him up. "You really do look just like him For a second there, I was afraid that you were that tea-loved bastard turned into a kid." he mumbled. "But you're actually pretty cute, you know?"

"That's what everyone says."

Romano smiled a bit. "Then it must be true, hnn?" He put Peter back down onto the ground and watched the child scamper off into the hallways. Then, noticing that the other two countries were staring at him, went back to glaring. "What?"

"Roma..."

"...you're actually pretty cute, you know that?"

"_Shut up, you pervert bastards! I hate you so much!_"

—**oO—Oo—**

The blond child wandered the halls of his new playhouse, unattended. He gleefully took in the new house and all it's wonders. It was so different from England's house—much messier, and somehow brighter. He wandered in and out of each of the rooms, exploring without anything in particular in mind.

Without warning, Peter was suddenly grabbed and squeezed from behind. "KESESESESE! YOU'RE FRANCIS' KID, AREN'T YOU? TONI AND FRANCIS TOLD THE AWESOME ME ABOUT YOU! THAT'S SO AWESOME!"

Peter struggled to turn his head in order to see the person who had captured him. Squeezing him was a large man with silver hair, pale skin, and red eyes that glinted and sparkled with laughter.

Seeing his captor made Peter no less frightened by him. Scared at suddenly being grabbed and yelled at, he burst into tears.

"Aww, crap! No, don't cry! Francis will kill me!" the silver haired country released Peter from his grip, He turned the child around, wiping the tears quickly. "Man, you don't like surprises, do you? Crap, I'm sorry. The awesome me came on too strong, huh? Come on, don't cry! You're a man, aren't you?" the man said all of this the while trying to calm down the sobbing child.

Peter sniffed. "W-who are you?" he hiccupped.

"I'm the most awesome country EVER!" The man grinned, pointing to himself. "Prussia!"

"...who?"

The man—Prussia's—shoulders fell. "Ah, so this is what Matt feels like, huh? It feels totally not awesome."

The child stopped crying for the moment. "Y-You know Mattie? Have you met his fuzzy bear, Blanket, too?"

Prussia blinked. "...Blanket?"

"Blanket. His polar bear." Peter repeated.

"I-I'm pretty sure that his polar bear is named Kamajiro."

"Blanket."

Prussia grinned. "Kesesese—you want to turn this into a fight, huh?"

Before Prussia could make that statement a reality, there was a sharp kick to Prussia's backside. Prussia groaned before looking up. "Geez, Francis, that hurt!" he sulked.

France smiled back. "It's good to see you too, Gil. I see you've met Peter already. You were able to sneak away from your brother to see Spain?"

"Psh, yeah. The awesome me is always able to get away from whatever he wants! Though I barely got through this time. You know how strict West is with seeing the enemy."

France frowned slightly. "Maybe you shouldn't see us, then."

"But!" Prussia protested. "But I wanted to meet your kid!" he hugged Peter again, causing the child to squirm in discomfort. "He's so cute! He looks just like you and England!"

France blushed slightly. "He's not mine, Gil. He's England's little bro—"

"Don't even say that! For God's sake, Francis, he's got your eyes and even your level of awesome! Of course he's yours and England's kid!" Prussia protested, gesturing towards the struggling Peter. "I mean, look at him! Sure, he looks like Artie, but look at his eyes! It's obvious!"

France's face fell. He slumped down next to Prussia, obviously defeated, and let out a long sigh. "I can never win with you, can I?" he asked, holding his head in his hands.

Prussia grinned, oblivious. "Duh. I'm the most awesome in the world."

France was quiet for quite a while, Prussia too occupied playing with Peter to take notice of the man's change in demeanor. After the minutes passed by, Spain joined the three. "Man, you guys really like to hide on me, don't you?" he asked, sitting next to France. He gazed at the blond—who still had his hand over his face—before quietly asking, "What's wrong, Francis?"

Prussia glanced up from pinching Peter's cheeks. "Eh? Francis, was it something I said?"

France shook his head. "_Non, non_. I'm simply enjoying the perks of parenthood—not saying that I'm a parent, of course. Worrying far too much then I ever did when I didn't have someone to take care of is one of the great perks of taking care of children."

"Nonsense! Francis, _amigo_, what in the world could you be worrying about?" Spain asked, leaning over so he could see France's face better. It was flushed, but there were no tears yet.

"The future, _mon cher_, has been on my mind much more lately. What will happen after the war ends. Once—" France swallowed, "—once the war forts aren't needed anymore."

Spain and Prussia quickly exchanged worried looks. Silently understanding the situation, Prussia picked Peter up. "C'mon, little dude, let's get some more awesome in you!" he said. He quickly whisked away the boy, leaving the Spaniard and the Frenchman to talk. Prussia had never been very good with touchy-feely issues, and he knew when to stay out of the way. He was better at being a diversion, anyway.

Spain rubbed France's back. "Come on, _amigo_, England can't completely ignore Peter. From what you said and from what I've seen, there's no way he could—"

France shook his head. "_Non_, it's not...it's not Arthur that I'm worried about. It's just...after the war ends...I don't know how long Peter will...be needed. He's been growing at an incredible rate, even for a country." France swallowed again. "I just...it's been on my mind much too often lately. Somehow, I can't stop fretting over it."

"..oh." Spain looked away, unable to bear the look on France's face. "T-that can't be...I mean, there has to be something that can be done about that. Peter's too good of a kid to di—"

"Please, _mon cher_, do not finish that sentence." France covered his face with his hands again. "All we can do is pray things will end well."

—**oOOo—**

Prussia studied Peter with mixed feelings as he set the child down in the kitchen. Prussia's mood was completely dampened by France's suddenly melancholic mood and the looming fear that Peter might not be around after the war hanging in the air. Prussia pursed his lips. Not awesome at all.

Noticing Prussia's persistent staring, Peter blinked. "What is it?" he asked.

"Huh? Nothin', I was just thinking that it was weird that you didn't know who I was! After all, I'm the most awesome country out there!"

Peter giggled. "That's cos you're not the most awesome country to me." he said smartly, grinning. "England is."

Prussia's eyebrows raised and his mouth dropped open. He wanted to yell, but somehow, his voice wouldn't come. Peter blinked, expecting loud protests from the man.

Prussia's expression faded as he closed his mouth. He gritted his teeth. "Well, I'm glad that you have love in your heart for the guy. That makes you a little more awesome."

Peter smiled.

—**oOOo—**

It was past sundown, and Prussia was sulking on the deck, swinging his legs as he watched the inky night sky.

"Frowning doesn't really suit your awesome style, Gil."

France sat down next to Prussia, seemingly recovered from his melancholy. "Why don't you have a drink? Peter's already fast asleep. I called Arthur and told him I wouldn't be back until tomorrow, at least, so you, Antonio and I can party for as long as we please. Romano's making sure none of us get into trouble."

"No."

France frowned, concerned. "It's not like you to refuse a drink. What's the matter, Gil? You don't need to worry about what I said."

"Well, I am, okay?" Prussia pulled his knees to his chest. "And nothing you can say can make me stop. The awesome me never listens to stuff he doesn't want to."

"Gil." France said softly. "Gil, come on. Sulking like this isn't like the awesome you."

Prussia scowled. "D'ya know what the kid said to me?"

France wrapped his arms around his comrade, running his hands through silver hair. "What did he say, Gil?"

"He said England's much more awesome then me. Do you know how not awesome that is?" Prussia narrowed his eyes. "Why does he think something like that? I mean..."

"It's because he loves Arthur more then anyone else, _mon cher_. And Arthur loves him, too. With all his heart. Arthur loves him as much as he loved Alfred, if not more." France replied softly.

The silver haired man snorted, obviously thinking France was full of bullcrap, but didn't reply. France let go of Prussia, then sighed and leaned back, staring up into the night sky. "So, when is Awesome Gil coming back? I'm tired of this sulking from you." he asked nonchalantly.

"He never left. I'm always awesome."

A smile played on France's face. "Well, we must hope that things stay this way, no? For you to stop being awesome would be the end of the world."

**~end chapter seven~**


	9. Memories of Bedtime

**Memories of a Different Time**

**(disclaimer: I don't own them. But the fluff that this fic contains can BURN A CLOUD OF FLUFF INTO YOUR MIND. By the way, reviews are welcome. Please review...~3)**

**oO-Memories of Bedtime-Oo**

It was already pretty dark out when England realized that he needed to check the time. He pulled out his pocket-watch and glanced at it. Taking note of the time, his eyes rose to welcome the sight of Peter, who was currently playing with his toy soldiers. He chuckled and stood from where he had been comfortably settled in his chair. He glanced out at the full moon for a minute before he spoke.

"Peter, it's that time again."

The blond child looked up from the recreation of some imaginary, no doubt fantastic battle scene, with a few of the soldiers in his hands. His eyes widened. "No!" he protested.

"Yes, Peter. It's bedtime."

At those words, Peter jumped up. He began to bolt out of the room. England reached out to catch him—as this was part of a daily routine—but barely missed. Peter scampered out of the room, with England hot on his tail. Usually France took this part of the job, but he was off doing God-knows-what with Spain and Prussia that night, so it was up to England to successfully capture the child.

"Peter!" England called, chasing after the child. "We do this every day! You knew this was coming, so why do you bother trying to escape? !"

Peter ignored England's calls, instead taking a sharp turn out of the hallway and into the dining room. He slid under the table and popped out the other side. He continued to run. England tried to dive under the table, but instead his head met the side of the table—in his pursuit, England had momentarily forgotten that he was bigger—crashed with a crack. Cringing, he swore under his breath briefly and rubbed his head before continuing to chase his younger brother.

Peter was still at the end of the hall when England caught sight of him. The child giggled slightly at the sight of his brother in such a state before zipping into England's room. England bolted into the room before Peter had a chance to get away and shut the door, trying to catch his breath. He lagged slightly, leaning against the doorframe, taking deep breaths.

After a moment, England looked up, and he tried not to smile as he saw Peter hiding under the covers, as if he was invisible.

Even if he was invisible, Peter's giggling would have given away his position.

England slowly walked over to the bed, then grabbed at the covers. He ripped them away and Peter began to laugh wildly, pointing at England's flushed face. "Ha ha! I won this time!" he cheered.

The older blond chuckled, then grabbed at Peter, lifting him off the bed. "I have you now!" he breathed, fighting off another smile. Peter simply squealed in delight at England's pretense of anger. Soon, though, England could no longer stave off his happiness, and broke out into a grin. "Yeah, you better be happy, mister." he chuckled as he carried the child into his own room. "I hit my bloody head chasing after you.

As they entered Peter's room, the boy in England's arms began to squirm. "No!" he whined. "I want to sleep with England!"

"No, Peter." England retorted. "You're a big boy. When you were a baby, you always wanted to sleep by yourself. Why do you insist on sleeping with me every night now?" He started to put Peter down in the bed, intent on reading him one—_maybe two, if Peter insisted_—bedtime stories, but the boy had other plans.

Peter rolled over before England could cover him with the blankets and jumped off the bed. Before England could blink, Peter had dashed out of the room. As England had almost been expecting this, he bolted after the child, but was unable to re-capture him before he made his way into England's room again. Peter jumped onto England's bed, grabbing the pillow and stood, poised for an attack, waving the pillow around as if it were a stick, or a gun, or something dangerous.

England looked up and down at Peter, playfully shocked and bemused. "You wouldn't." he said, cautiously approaching the bedside.

With a wicked grin, Peter brought down the pillow right onto England's head. At this, England gasped and tackled the boy—though not rough enough to hurt him of course—and they both fell onto the soft bed, laughing. England started to tickle Peter, and the boy squirmed, protesting by continuing to hit England on the head with the pillow.

This continued for quite a while until both England and Peter were exhausted. England rolled over, propping his hand on his chin so he could get a better look at Peter.

"Are you quite done, lad? Do you want to surrender?" England asked in a soft voice, smiling. He was met with a pillow to the face and more protests.

"No!"

England sat up, studying Peter. "Why not, lad? Don't you like your room?"

"I do, but I like sleeping with England better!" Peter rolled to his side, looking up at England with big, pleading blue eyes and furrowed eyebrows. "It's nice! I always feel safe and warm when I sleep with England!"

England bit the inside of his lip—Peter was trying to employ his special puppy-dog pout. He could feel his face getting red, and his reasoning slipping away as Peter continued to beg. Finally, England ripped his eyes away from Peter and looked up to the ceiling. "Fine. But _only_ for tonight." he warned, looking back at Peter.

Peter's expression had not changed.

...damn it, he couldn't look away.

"What about tomorrow night?"

England tried to continue, hold onto his last piece of will, trying to get past Peter's pleadingly adorable face. "Peter, you can't get into this habit of sleeping in my room. You have your own room."

Peter pouted. He turned to his other side and curled up, not replying to what England had just told him.

England groaned again.

The child was sulking now.

With a frustrated sigh, England flopped back down on the bed, and his hands began to dance on Peter's stomach, tickling him. Peter burst out laughing. "Fine! Two nights, but that's it!" England declared. "I don't care _how_ bloody adorable you try to get, two nights is where I draw the line! Got it?"

Peter curled up, still laughing hard, kicking England as the older brother continued to tickle him. His smile was wide on his face. "And the night after that! And the night after _that_, and the night after _that_, too! I want to sleep in England's bed forever!" he insisted, snuggling. England looked up at the ceiling again, and knew that trying to insist would result in an argument.

There was no use in arguing. At least not that night.

England would lose, anyway.

_**~end chapter**_


	10. Memories of a Wish

**Memories of a Different Time**

**...**

**oO-Memory of A Wish-Oo**

**[A/N: Warning: Serious angst later in this chapter. Return to fluff afterwards]**

**-oOOo-**

The winds and subsequent chilly weather of London told the world that summer was just about to end. There was a certain charm to the end of summer, and England normally treasured the change of seasons.

But when was the last time that anything had been considered normal?

England was currently carrying a rather large, cumbersome box through the house, following France, who was holding Peter in his arms. They had been walking in the estate for quite a while, roaming the hallways as France looked in each of the rooms, claiming that he was looking for an empty one. Apparently, he had decided to do something with England's house without asking for permission.

This type of thing was becoming England's "normal" more and more these days.

England groaned again, adjusting the box in order to get a better grip on it. "You stupid frog! There are only three empty rooms in this house! Would it kill you to just pick one already? And what the devil is in this box, bricks? It's like you put bricks in here just to spite me!"

"Ah, quit your whining, Arthur. We simply must find the perfect room! It must be glorious! I will have nothing else!" France pranced around the hallway, swinging Peter in his arms. "Isn't that right, Peter?"

Peter's smile widened. "Yeah, a perfect room!" he echoed, his head turning to England as France danced. "We gotta get the perfect room, England!"

"There is obviously no perfect room in this house! Just pick one of them already so I can put this thing down!" England shot back, clearly starting to lose his temper. "And just what do you plan to do once we get to a room that suits your pompous tastes?" England shifted the box again, desperate to gain some sort of decent hold on the heavy object.

France sighed. Gently, he set Peter down. "Alright, we'll let Peter chose." With his characteristic smile, he winked at Peter. "Go ahead, chose a room."

_Git's acting like he owns the place._ England scoffed, unwillingly following France as Peter ran off, leading them through the hallways. _Though I have to wonder what he's planning. Francis can be a sneaky bastard if the occasion calls for it._

Noticing that the box was slipping, England readjusted his arms so it wouldn't fall, making sure not to spill whatever contents France had gleefully put in it. He frowned. _Maybe that frog did put bricks in here..._

"This one!"

England was snapped out of his thoughts by Peter's voice. He looked up to see Peter and France standing in front of one of the empty rooms. It was completely bare, with white walls and a wooden floor. England couldn't recall what he had used this room for, but it was obvious that he wasn't using it now, and hadn't in many years.

"This one, Jii! This one!" Peter pointed into the room excitedly.

"Ah, Peter, such fine tastes, no doubt thanks to my glorious teachings—" England rolled his eyes, "—is it not wonderful, Arthur?"

England sighed again as he made his way into the room, dropping the box at his feet. "It's wonderful. Now, could you tell me what exactly is _in_ this thing?"

France knelt down, shifting through the box. "Paints! And brushes! We're going to turn this stuffy old room into something splendid for Peter! Peter's very own room! You can't very well have him continue to sleep in the guest room, no? He's part of the family!"

England rolled his eyes again, scowling as France put emphasis on _family_. There was no way he wanted to be any part of a family that had France in it. "So you decided to do all of this without my permission?" he asked spitefully as he examined the array of colorful paints France took out of the box. They were a mix of blues and yellows. England cringed. He thought they looked dreadfully tacky. "Why such bold colors? Is this what all French rooms look like?"

"_Non_, not all of them, but Peter deserves only the best! Just like my cooking." France tossed a brush at England, who caught it before it hit the floor. "Now, would you be so kind to paint the walls a light blue?" France motioned at the cyan-colored pains. "I will be painting the ceiling yellow. It will be the perfect room for a perfect little boy!"

England sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to convince the Frenchman out of this ridiculous scheme. Still, it had been something he had been meaning to do for a while—giving Peter his own room. It would only cement the fact that Peter was part of the family—a part that England wasn't about to give up any time soon.

He carelessly set the paintbrush down, reaching out to grab one of the cans of blue paint. He started to struggle with opening the lid. "Why do they make it so hard to open these bloody things?" he mused.

Peter, noticing the brush had been cast aside, started to grin devilishly. He quickly snatched up the object and started to wave it around like a victory flag.

England glanced up at the boy, still struggling with the paint can lid. "Peter, you be careful with that." he warned the child. Peter had been quite mischievous lately, and England had no desire to scold the boy. England despised scolding Peter. All it did was remind him of what a horrid job he had done as an older brother in the past.

Hearing England's warning was all the egging on that the boy had needed. Before England could stop him, Peter ran over to France and started to jab him with the brush. "Jii, you're the bad guy! I'm the hero! I gotta beat you!" he laughed, continuing to poke his surrogate uncle.

France, smiling, decided to put on a performance. "Oh, Peter, it seems that you've defeated me!" he cried, drawing out each word as melodramatically as he could. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest. "Oh! Is this how it is going to end? Why has God decided to take me at such a young age, in such a manner? It must be my punishment..." he trailed off, falling to the floor with a _thud_. His mouth was slightly open, and he was apparently dead.

England couldn't help but smile to himself. Though he hated the stupid frog—and he put emphasis on the _hate_ part—he had to admit, France was good at entertaining children. Maybe it was because France was childish, and stupid, and easily pleased—but he was good at making Peter smile, and that was all England cared about at the moment.

The golden haired child looked down at France triumphantly. "I won!" he grinned, stepping on France's stomach to show his victory. "I won, and I saved the whole day!" he looked down at France. "Hey, Jii, that was fun!"

France didn't respond. His mouth remained hung open, the twinge of a smile in his expression going unnoticed by the child. Peter paused, then knelt down and poked France's cheek. "Jii? Hey, it was just a game. You aren't really dead, are you?"

England glanced up from struggling with the lid, still smiling.

Peter started at France's unmoving face for a full minute in shock. "H—hey! Jii, I was only pretending!" Tears began to form in his eyes. "Jii, wake up!" he yelled, starting to pound on France's chest. "Hey, hey, wake up! Don't die!" the child started to sob.

England left the paint can—still unopened—on the floor and picked Peter up. "It's alright, Peter, he's only playing." he tried to assure the boy. "Francis likes playing games like this. He thinks that losing is fun. That's why his military sucks so much."

At this insult, France shot up. "H—hey! It's not that, it's just that God—oh, look, I'm alive." the long haired blond stood up, dusting off his chest. "See, Peter? I'm fine." France joined the group hug.

The three stood there for a long time, hugging, until France finally pulled away. "Well, that was fun and all, but we have a room to paint." he pulled out a box of crayons and some paper. "Now, Peter, I need you to draw on this while England and I work, okay?"

Peter grabbed the paper and crayons. Without a word, he settled down on the floor, scribbling furiously.

The two countries began to paint, with France humming a happy little tune as he stood on a stepstool ladder, painting the ceiling a strong yellow. Every once in a while, Peter would glance up at the work that the other two were doing.

The hours passed by that way. It was a wonderful way to pass the time, England had to admit.

With a family.

—**oOOo**—

Peter sat up, a finished drawing on the floor. This was his seventh picture since England and France had begun their job. "Hey, England, why am I getting my own room?" he asked. "Wasn't the room I was sleeping in my room?"

"No, Peter, that was the guest room. You're getting your own room because you're a big boy." England replied, still focused on painting the walls.

"What about my bed?"

"You're getting a big bed, too."

"And my boat?"

England chuckled at the thought of the toy boat. "Yes, you can have that too, if you want."

"What about being a great big country like everyone else?"

England froze, paintbrush still in hand. What in had made Peter ask a thing like that? Peter had shown no interest in becoming like them—his own country. England had assumed that he didn't care.

England bit his lip. "...no. You can't."

The boy blinked. England had never said 'no' to him. "Why not?"

"Because you're not big enough for it." England retorted.

Peter's eyebrows furrowed. "But you just said I was big."

"I said _no_." England repeated firmly, despite how his heart was sinking and his anger rising. He turned his head to get a good look at the boy, who was staring, wide-eyed. "Why would you want to become a country?"

"Because everyone else is a country. Matt, and Jii, and England, and America—"

"_No_!" England snapped before Peter could finish. "You are _never_ to say you want to be a country! Haven't I given you everything you wanted? Haven't I taken good care of you?" the green-eyed man continued to fuss. "I don't want you to get hurt!"

"I won't get hurt! I'm big and strong!" Peter cried back, tears forming in his eyes. "You just said I was big, England! So why—"

France quickly and silently jumped from the ladder, swooping the now crying Peter into his arms, muffling the child's protests. France shushed him gently and shot England a chiding glare.

England dropped the brush and promptly left the room in anger. He made his way to his own room and slammed the door, throwing himself onto the bed. How dare France give him that look? After all that England had gone through with America! How dare he, _how dare he—_

England held back a sob as he remembered. The hardships, the pain...the hate and suffering... England was protecting Peter from that. He was _protecting_ him. He was doing what he hadn't done with America, making sure he wasn't screwing up by abandoning the child.

...goddammit. Peter was turning out just like Alfred, even when England did things right.

England held back another sob. He couldn't handle that—he couldn't handle being thrown away like he had with America. England winced at even the thought of it. He had to remind himself to breathe as his memories came back to haunt him. He rolled over to his other side, trying to stave them off. _Why, why, why?_ England screamed at himself. _Where do I keep going wrong with them? Why can't I hold onto them? Why—_

England's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was a soft knock, but England cringed at the sound. He continued to sulk, unmoving, as France entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Arthur."

"G-go away."

"Arthur."

Despite how much England _despised_ France, he was somewhat comforted at how France called his name. He didn't speak as France edged towards the bed and sat down. France casually took his hand and started to comb through England's hair. "Arthur, Peter doesn't understand why you got so angry." he said softly.

England swallowed, still unmoving. "What was I supposed to say, Francis?"

France said nothing, instead choosing to rake through England's messy top. The silence itself was an answer. After a moment, he raised England off the pillow, wiping the tears from the Brittan's eyes. "_Mon cher_, please don't cry. Peter is a child. It's natural that he wants to be like his heroes."

England winced. "That doesn't make this any easier, Francis."

France gently kissed England's forehead, making the Englishman flush. "Arthur, I wouldn't know what you should do later, but right now, you need to fix this misunderstanding. Go be Peter's hero."

—**oOOo**—

When England finally cleaned himself up enough, it was almost dark. How long had it been?

England caught sight of the small child, and his heart sank. Peter was sniffing, settled down on the living room couch, his lip still quivering. England looked off to the side, trying not to let the guilt steal his voice.

"Peter?"

Startled, the boy looked up. "Y...yeah, England?"

"You're cross with me, aren't you?"

Peter shook his head, biting his lip. "N-no...Jii said to be patient. That you were remembering stuff that made you sad. I don't like it when England's sad."

England walked over to the boy and picked him up before settling on the couch, holding the child in his lap. "I don't like it when I'm sad, either."

"Is it 'cos I wanted to be a country?"

England bit his lip, holding Peter tighter. "I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you to be hurt, or sad, because I...I only want what's best for you."

Peter held him back, if a bit confused, as England softly cried. None of what England was saying made sense to him. All he knew was that England was sad, and Peter knew that he didn't like that.

So he decided on it then and there.

He would become a great big country to protect his big brother.

**~to be continued**


	11. Memories of a Princess

**Memories of a Different Time**

**(disclaimer: Fluff is my life, but these characters are not mine. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading England, France and Sealand's pointlessly adorable adventures together, though.)**

**oO-Memories of A Princess-Oo**

It was far past bedtime, and he still wasn't back.

Peter heaved a long sigh and continued to stare out the window, brows furrowed in impatience. He gazed up at the moon, tapping his foot, trying to fight off the inevitable sleepiness that snuck up at times you didn't want it. He blinked three times, then turned his head towards the couch, where a half-dozing France was laying.

"Jii?"

France groaned, then opened his eyes. He stared at Peter in surprise. "_Mon petite_, you are still awake?" he asked, sitting up, a bit concerned. "Wasn't your bedtime quite a while ago?"

"Jii, when is England coming home?"

France rubbed the stubble on his chin and glanced up at the clock. It was nearing midnight. "Ah, Peter, I'm sure he'll be home soon—why don't you go to sleep? I'm sure you are tired, no?"

Peter let out a long sigh, turning back to the window. "You said he was going to be back a long time ago. He promised to tell me bedtime stories about his fairies tonight."

France's eyes softened at the child. England had been busy recently, what with constant war meetings for his country, not to mention the meetings with the Allies that they attended. France had cooked dinner without England's protests of how he wanted Peter to have "_good, English food,_ _and not_ _this froggy French crap_" more often then not.

The older blond stumbled to his feet and walked quietly over to Peter. France silently placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. He could see Peter was on the verge of nodding off, trying desperately to stave the sleep off.

"England is not here, and you simply must go to bed. Growing children need their sleep. He will be here in the morning, _cheri_."

Peter looked up at France pleadingly. "Jii!" he whined. "Just a little longer? Can't I wait just a little longer?" He asked, pouting slightly, his eyes shining. France pursed his lips.

_Ah, so this is the puppy dog pout England has been warning me about. _

The older man crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes seriously. "_Cheri_." he warned. "I will give you five minutes. If England is not here by then, I am putting you to bed."

At this, Peter crossed his arms, trying to mimic France. "Why do I have to go to bed?" he asked sulking. "I don't want to."

Despite Peter's efforts France held fast. "You need your rest. I am not as much of a pushover as England, you know." he replied, smiling slightly. "You cannot always have your way, _cheri_."

The blond child sighed, turning away, facing the window. He looked up at the moon again and continued to sulk, though France could see in his eyes that sleeping sounded promising and _very_ tempting. Seeing his chance, France thought for a moment, then continued smoothly, stroking Peter's cheek with the back of his hand.

"If it's a story you want, how about I tell you one, hmm? _Mattieu_ used to say that I told the greatest stories. You can have one about whatever you like, though I do not know much about England's imaginary fairy friends."

Peter glanced up at his surrogate uncle, his interest perked. He rubbed his eyes involuntarily and yawned. "...anything?"

France quickly swooped Peter up into his arms and, before Peter could protest, nuzzled his cheeks. "Yes, anything, _mon petite_. Whatever your precious little heart desires, I will be happy to give to you."

Suddenly looking exhausted, Peter rested his head on France's shoulder, his eyes halfway closed. "Tell me a story about a prince and a princess."

After a moment of careful thought, France began to walk away from the window, chuckling softly. "I think I have the perfect story for you." he said softly as he carried Peter up the stairs. "Once upon a time...there was a very pretty, young princess. She was trapped in a very tall tower."

The child nodded his head, his sleepy, curious blue eyes hanging onto France's every word. "...uh-hmm?"

"This pretty woman had been left in her tower for a very long time. Being there, all alone, had caused her to become very bitter and mean." France shifted Peter in his arms, trying not to jostle him too much as he opened the door to Peter's room. "One day, however, a dashing, handsome, _tres bon magnifiquent_ young prince decided to rescue her." He gently began to settle Peter down in the bed, laying him down carefully. "But, there was a monster guarding the princess."

Peter let out an audible gasp. "A monster? What kind, Jii?"

France had to quickly think. "—A centaur! Yes, it was a large centaur, with one pointed horn and a large club in its hands, whose laugh was very irritating that it crumbled buildings. The centaur was there to stop anyone from seeing the princess! It tried to stop the handsome prince, but the prince defeated it with the power of love." France chuckled, grabbing the blankets and covering Peter with them. "The prince happily went up to the top room in the tallest tower in order to rescue his princes..."

"Then what, Jii?"

"Well," France laughed awkwardly. "As it turns out, the centaur was there because the princess told him to be. She was very angry that the prince had made it the whole way to find her."

At this, Peter frowned. "Why would she do that?"

"You have to remember, _mon petite_, that she had been in that castle for a long time. She wasn't very nice because of that."

France kissed Peter's forehead, wiping the bangs out of the child's eyes. Peter looked up sadly at his uncle. "What happened after that?" he asked softly, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"Well...the prince decided to convince the princess that he loved her. He offered her a better life, outside the castle, to live with him. And, after some persuading, she accepted, however grudgingly." France straightened up, smiling.

"...did they..." Peter yawned loudly again. "...did they live happily ever after?"

"_Oui_, somewhat. The end."

Peter turned over, closing his eyes. "That was a good story, Jii." he mumbled, already halfway into dreamland. France chuckled slightly and tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

—**oOOo—**

"Peter—!"

England burst through the door. He looked around frantically for the child, but instead his eyes fell upon France, who had resumed his place on the couch. England's face dropped at the sight of the long-haired blond, and he grimaced slightly. "...I'm too late again, aren't I?" he asked softly.

"_Oui_, and you are far too loud for this time at night."

France sat up, making room for England on the couch. The smaller blond hung his head low as he settled down next to France. He put his head in his hands and let out a long, sad sigh. "Damn it...I-I promised myself that I wouldn't be late today. Peter must have been so disappointed."

France rubbed between England's shoulder blades, trying to comfort his downtrodden comrade. "_Non_, Arthur. He wasn't too crushed. I told him a story to get his mind off it."

England peeked out at France through his hands. He straightened up, only to turn to his side and lean on France's shoulder, his eyes closed. "What kind of story did you tell him? I'm kind of afraid to ask."

"...would you like to here it, _mon cher_?" France asked, grinning slightly.

"Yeah, I may as well. I want to make sure that you aren't feeding Peter stories full of smut and porn."

At this France chuckled slightly. He began to rake his hand through England's messy mop of blond hair. "Right...well, once upon a time, there was a princess who was stuck in a high tower, all by herself."

"Ah, I know how this one goes." England interrupted. "Let me guess. Somehow, a prince finds out about this pretty woman stuck in the tower. He decides to rescue her, but there's a monster in his way. He defeats it, gets the girl, and lives happily ever after, right?" he yawned a little. "That's always how these stories go. I should know. We made up a lot of them at my place."

"Ah, mon cher, you're so clever!" France praised, still tugging at England's blond locks. "But, while the story does go like that, there is a twist. Would you like to hear it?"

England glanced up, moderatly interested. "What is it?" he asked, curious.

"This princess didn't wish to be rescued. She was afraid of outside, of getting hurt, so she preferred her isolation." France stroked his chin thoughtfully.

England scoffed, but remained interested. "...continue, frog."

France did exactly that. "...and the prince knew she was afraid. He had known her as a child, and watched her grow up, and teased her and fought with her, all up until she locked herself in the tower.

"He knew that the princess didn't want to be rescued, but he tried to save her anyway, because..."

"Because?" England urged, sitting up, gazing at France. "Why did he go save her, if she went through all the trouble to keep everyone out?"

"...because he loved her. He loved her more then anyone else on the Earth." France stood up, then leaned down and kissed England's forehead, smiling softly. "You should go to bed, _mon cher_. Peter will be up first thing in the morning, and he'll want to play with you."

England let out a soft groan. He sat up, stretching his arms and yawning. "That was actually a pretty good story, frog." he said sleepily. "Good job."

With that being said, England lumbered into the hallway and nearly crashed into his door. He opened the door to his room and stumbled in, the door closing behind him. France, however, sat back down on the couch, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He studied the empty space for a long moment.

"...he rescued her...because he loved her."

_**end chapter**_

**(A/N: I totally did not intend to ship FrUK when I started this fanfiction, but it sort of just...happened. A ha ha. Hope you enjoyed.)**


	12. Memories of a Different Child

**Memories Of A Different Child****...**

It was thundering that night. Many of the summer nights late into the season were filled with thunderstorms.

Peter was not used to the loud thunder or the bright flashes of light that filled the dark room. The boy tossed and turned with each thunder clap, jumping each time. He found in himself a distaste for the late summer nights. Slightly tearing, he flinched again as another _boom_ made its way through the room. He quivered.

Finally, a particularly loud batch of thunder claps drove the child out of his bed. He scampered out from under the covers that France had lovingly tucked in and bolted out of the room.

"E-England!" he cried, dashing into the older country's room, which was down the hallway from his own. "England...!" He paused, hesitating for a moment before another loud boom of thunder made him quickly and quietly open the door.

England was sleeping peacefully, despite the terrifying weather. He had grown accustomed to the thunder and rain throughout the years—the gentle, rhythmic beating of the rain pellets on his roof were practically second nature to the man. At the sound of the door, he turned over, still sleeping. He was breathing softly, and it was the only sound in the room between the claps of thunder and the flashes of lightning.

Still trembling, Peter tiptoed to England's bedside and started to climb onto the bed. He finally clamored up to the older country with a bit of difficulty. He started to shake England's shoulder.

"England." he whispered. "England?"

England grunted. "Nnn...what is it, Alfred?"

Peter frowned. "England, wake up, I'm scared." he pleaded. "England."

"'m up." England muffled, turning over. "I'm up, Alfred. What is it?"

"England, it's scary." the child was so terrified and so close to tears that it didn't register that England was calling someone else's name.

England rubbed his eyes, still half asleep. "What's scary?"

"Outside. It's scary." the child replied, still trembling. "I don't like it."

"It's just thunder, it won't hurt you."

At that moment, there was another loud clap of thunder. Peter jumped, then buried his face into England's pillow, sobbing.

This finally got England's full attention. He sat up, staring at the boy for a moment. "I just told you, there's nothing to be scared of. Alfred, please stop crying."

The boy paused between sniffles. "Who...who's Alfred?" he asked timidly, still shaking as the lightning flashed.

England finally blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes. He stared down at the blond child, convinced for a moment that his mind was playing tricks on him, but then remembered. "Ah, sorry...Peter. There's nothing to be scared of, Peter."

Peter sniffed again, curling up into a ball, trembling. England immediately felt horrible for his mistake. "England, I'm scared." the child whispered. "C-can I stay in here with you? Jii keeps his door locked."

The older country sighed in relief. _So he's not angry..._ "Of course you can stay in here."

Peter immediately became set on crawling into England's lap. He was still shaking pretty badly, and jolted with each passing roll of thunder. He shut his eyes in terror at the loud noises. In turn, England stroked the boy's hair, trying to calm him down. "It's alright, Peter. Don't cry. England is here for you."

England began to rock the child, singing lullabies from eras past. Ever so slowly, the mix of England's soothing words and his safe, warm arms took their effect on Peter. The storm started to quiet down as the child gently drifted off into sleep.

England sighed as he lay Peter down, covering him with the blankets. _It was an accident_. England thought firmly to himself. _It was an accident. I didn't mean it. I was half asleep. That's the only reason that I called him Alfred._ He brushed the hair out of Peter's eyes, studying his face. It was pathetic—even England didn't believe what he was telling himself.

"...I'm sorry." he mumbled, kissing Peter's cheek

He held his head in his hands as the thunder started to act up again, desperately trying to forget the memory of the other child.

—**interlude end—**


	13. Memories of The Hero

**Memories of a Different Time**

**(disclaimer: You should know this by now, but I feel like I should put it here anyway. Do not own. But I might own your soul with the amount of fluff that I put into this.)**

**oO-Memory of the Hero-Oo**

It was quite a lovely day, if France could say so himself. Yes, quite a lovely, wonderful, glorious, simply _perfect_ day.

Well, it would be if England hadn't been dragged off to some war meetings, leaving France and a sulking Peter on their own. Apparently, England had to work with his bosses to make sure Germany was kept on his toes, and he would once again not be back until far past Peter's bedtime. This had left the ever-attention wanting Peter in a brooding mood. France felt bad that he found the child's pouting, wistful face adorable, but he did.

He watched as Peter played with his wooden soldiers listlessly, a bored look on his face. There was sadly nothing France could do for the child on days like this, except maybe cook him up a fantastic, taste-bud blowing dessert or snack, which was what he was doing right at the moment that the doorbell rang.

France looked up from the bowl filled with a mixture of ingredients for his special cake and blinked. It was too early for solicitors, and no one had mentioned on stopping by—they were also all busy with the war—but he put down the bowl anyway, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and walking briskly towards the door, which was being knocked on again. "_Oui, oui_!" he called. "I'm coming, please do not be so impatient!"

The tall blond opened the door, and was surprised to find a grinning American at the doorstep. At France's surprise, America burst out laughing, jokingly saluting the older man. "Francis! What's happening, my man?" he exclaimed, tapping his foot and spinning around.

France couldn't help smiling at the energetic teen in front of him. "Alfred." he said warmly. "It's good to see you. What brings you here, though?"

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so I decided to drop by and play with Peter." America replied very quickly, almost as if he had rehearsed saying this. France studied America for a moment before chuckling again.

"So you heard that Arthur was busy today."

At this, America turned a little pink. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, almost embarrassed. "A ha, yeah, I did. It's always kind of awkward being here when England's around, and he always shoots me these nasty looks when I ask to see Peter." the young blond pouted childishly. "It's just not fair! I mean, Mattie gets to see him all the time, so I figured I would get to know the kid myself, too. And I have a duty to as the hero, right?"

France chuckled again, then gestured inside. "_Oui_, of course. He is, after all, much like you. Come. He is in the living room. I presume you remember where that is?"

America nodded enthusiastically as he nearly bounded into the house, looking around excitedly. "Wow, hey, it hasn't changed all that much." He commented offhand, glancing at the photos on the wall in the hallway. "Just updated a little bit, huh…it really resembles England."

The older blond closed the door. "I was just making some snacks. I will call you both in when they are done, but in the meantime, why don't you play with Peter?"

At the word "snack", America's eyes lit up even more. "Snacks? Peter? Ha ha ha! Today's the perfect day, I just knew it would be!" at that, the young nation bounded down the hallways and into the living room, barely taking the time to throw off his shoes. France continued to laugh to himself, bemused.

_Perhaps Peter will have a good day after all, oui?_

—**oOOo**—

America entered the living room as quietly as he could, though, if he had thought about it, all the noise he was making previously would have aroused suspicion in most people.

However, when the blond teen spotted the child, the boy had his back turned, hunched over and making a noise as if concentrating. He had not taken notice of anything strange at all—least of all, America coming to visit. America couldn't contain his laughter as he dove over to the boy and grabbed him, pulling him into a gigantic bear hug, gleefully taking in Peter's yelp of surprise. "Hey, buddy, it's been a while!"

Peter, in response to the hero's voice, arched his head so he could see the currently snuggling country. "America?" he asked, eyes widening. "America came today?"

"Of course, little buddy! America comes over whenever he can! After all, I'm the hero!"

Peter's soft smile turned into a grin. "America came!"

America nodded enthusiastically, rubbing his cheek against Peter's in affection. "Yeah, I came all right! And I'm here to hang out with you!" America let go of the blond boy, who was now gasping for air because of America's tight hug. The teen then began to examine the floor, which was littered with wooden toy soldiers. What'cha up to, little guy?" he asked curiously, picking up one of the toy figures. It felt oddly familiar, yet brand new at the same time.

"I was playing soldier!" Peter replied proudly. "England made these for me!"

"Really? They look nearly just like the ones he made me when I was your age." America said in surprise, rolling around the small toy between two of his fingers. He chuckled. "So he still does stuff like this, huh? These must be your favorite toys, little buddy."

In response, Peter nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, they are! England says that I have to take good care of them. He said he made them just for me."

America's eyes began to soften. "Ah…I see…" he said, holding up the toy soldier so he could get a better view of it.

Yes, it was just like the ones that England had made him Very easy to hold, made out of smooth wood, with individual faces painted on each one. Some had top hats, one had a toy drum, and most all of them had rifles, each holding theirs up with dignity and pride.

Except instead of red uniforms, they were painted a vibrant, deep blue. A deep blue, just like…

"—did you, America?"

America blinked. He shook his head and laughed. "Hey, little buddy, could you repeat that? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." At this obvious lack of paying attention, Peter pouted, which made America laugh even more. He scuffled the child's sandy hair in response, "Come on, kiddo. Tell the hero again, huh? I was just thinking about all the people I have to save when I go home."

"I _said_, did America live with England when he was little?"

The teen paused, his breath caught. "Uhm, well…"

_Should I tell him that I sort of did live with England? Should I tell him about how England used to be? Should I tell him about how I…?_

"America?"

America shook his head again. "Uhm, yeah, sort of, little buddy." He grinned. "It was kind of different from how you live with him, though. England and France used to hate each other back then…though they still do kind of hate each other now, but not as much."

Peter's face brightened up again, sunshine nearly radiating from the boy's face. This made America's spirit lift. "That means that you're kind of like my big brother too, right?"

At this, America's melancholic thoughts immediately broke. He grabbed Peter and pulled him into another bear hug, despite protests from the boy. "Yeah! I'll totally be your big brother, Peter! I'll be the best big brother ever! I'll come over whenever I can and we'll eat snacks and tease France and drive England crazy! How does that sound, little buddy? Do you want to do that? I'll always come over and play with you and make sure you're never, ever, ever lonely!" he said this all in one breath, squeezing Peter harder and harder with each promise that America was making to himself.

Peter giggled, despite how he was being roughly handled. "Do you wanna play right now?"

"Of course! I'll play anything you want! Anything and everything!" America pulled Peter back, lifting him into the air. The grin on his face could not get any bigger. "Do you want to play soldiers? Or do you want to do something else? I'm a great, big hero, so I'll do anything with you!"

"You're a hero, America?"

"Of course I am! I mean, I'm the greatest country ever! I've got the air force and the army and comic books and hamburgers and jet packs! Though I don't really have jet packs yet, but my scientists are totally working on it!" America threw the boy up into the air, then jumped up and grabbed him mid-air. He began to twirl around, and Peter threw out his arms as if he were an airplane, making wooshing sounds.

After a few minutes (or hours, America was never really good with time) of this, the boys had collapsed into giggles, both breathing heavily from the hardcore play they had just taken part in. Peter rolled over to meet America's eyes—they had the same eye color, America couldn't help but notice—and smiled softly.

"Thank you, big brother America."

**end chapter**


	14. Memories of the Awesome Babysitters

**Memories of a Different Time**

**(disclaimer: no, I don't own them. But fannon is it's own reward.)**

**oO-Memory of the Awesome Babysitters-Oo**

England stood at his mirror, brows furrowed. He studied himself—he was wearing a simple brown suit, long black paints, and dress shoes. A floppy brown hat lay on the dresser, waiting for England to put it on. England scowled. If only he could straighten the tie, it would be perfect. The tie was crooked, and no matter what England did, the tie would not straighten. He continued to struggle with the tie, aware that he was wasting time.

"Arthur, _mon cher_, if you don't hurry up, we're going to be late. The babysitters are already here." France's voice called from downstairs. England twitched, his scowl widening.

"Why do we have to leave Peter here?" he called back, brows furrowed.

"Because Peter's bedtime is in an hour and the movie we're about to see is, how shall I put it, not appropriate. Now come, we need to leave now."

England twitched again, and—leaving the tie crooked on his suit—walked down the stairs to find that the babysitters France had hired standing in front of the door, and froze in horror.

Prussia and Spain stood in the doorframe. France was talking animatedly with the two.

Noticing England had finally come out from his room, France smiled. "Ah, England—"

"Francis! _Are you kidding me?_" England shouted, pointing at the Spaniard and Prussian. "You hired _these_ two?"

France frowned. "They said they would do it for free."

Prussia turned to Spain. "Wait, we're not getting paid for this?"

Spain laughed and shrugged his shoulders in response. "Guess not. After all, we live to serve Francis." he replied jokingly.

England grabbed France's shirt, pulling him closer. "_You could have paid someone, anyone, more reliable then these two!_" he hissed, sending glares at the other two countries, who now were completely disregarding the blondes, off in their own world while arguing good naturedly on whenever they were getting paid or not.

France pouted. "But they wanted to come over anyway. It's only for one night, Arthur. Won't you let this slide?"

England pulled France closer so the two were almost touching noses. "No! And do you know why? Number one! Prussia is on the _Axis_! Or did you forget?"

"He's Gilbert, _mon cher_. He wouldn't try to do anything sneaky while we were away. It's not his style—not awesome at all." France replied, using his hands for emphasis, though England was too close to France's face to notice the gestures.

"Number two! You hired a _pedophile_!" England's raging eyebrows furrowed.

"_Non, non,_ you see, that's where everyone makes a mistake." France wagged his finger in the air. "Toni is not a pedophile—he only does that to Romano. See, you have nothing to worry about, Arthur!"

England turned up to look at the other two, who were currently staring at the blondes, bemused. England scowled. "If so much as one thing happens—"

Prussia rubbed the side of his silver-clad head, already tired of being lectured. "Yeah, yeah, you'll have the skins of our asses. We get it, Artie!" He started to push the two forcefully out of the house. "Everything will be fine! Go have fun, will ya?"

Spain smiled. "Yes, you can trust us." he added as he closed the door.

England was still fuming as the door practically slammed behind them. France frowned, noticing England's tie was askew. "Ah, _mon cher,_ your tie." Immediately, the Frenchman set about straightening the crooked tie. "You were never very good with these, were you?" he asked, unnoticing of England's flushing face. When he fixed the tie, France straightened up. "Let's go on our way, no?"

England looked away, hoping that the darkness of the night would hide his blush. "Fine, let's...let's just go already."

—**oOOo—**

Prussia turned to his Spanish friend as soon as the door closed. "Okay," he began, wagging his finger around. "On a level of one to awesome, this is most defiantly _awesome_. Francis gets to go on a date with Artie, and we get to hang out with Petie." he pumped his fist. "Nothing can stop us now!"

Spain laughed. "_Si, si_."

Already impatient, Prussia began to tug at Spain's sleeve. "C'mon, Toni! Let's go see what Petie is doing! We're gonna party all night long with the kid!"

Spain glanced back at Prussia as the silver haired man started to push him up the stairs. "_Si_, but just make sure you don't break anything, okay? And that includes me, y'know."

Prussia grinned wily as the two made their way to the top of the stairs. "Ah, right, I'm supposed to let Romano try to do that, am I right?" he opened the door to the child's room and stopped cold.

The walls were painted a very light blue, with large white blotches—Prussia could only assume that they were clouds—pained all over them. The ceiling a very pale yellow, and almost looked as if it was filling the room with light. There was a child sized bed pushed into one corner—away from the window, Spain noted—a nightstand placed next to it. The floor was covered by a very plush, very white rug. And in the middle of that rug sat the blond child in question—playing happily with his toy boat.

The two stared in awe at the room. It was a child's room, no doubt about it—and very much out of place in England's house.

Peter glanced up at the opening of his door, and his smile widened. "Toni! Gil!" he exclaimed, running over to the two older countries and into Prussia's arms. "Jii got you too to baby-sit me?"

Prussia squeezed the lad into a tight hug in response, and Spain laughed wholeheartedly. "Of course he did! And it's nice to see you too, Peter." he said, patting the child's head.

The silver haired man grinned. "Francis would have nothing less awesome then me babysitting you, after all, Petie!"

Peter looked up at Prussia, then at Spain, then back to Prussia, already excited. "What can we do? I've never been babysat before."

Prussia's lips pursed. He hated planning. The red eyed man looked up to Spain, expectantly. "Well, what are we going to do?"

The auburn haired country stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Well...I suppose we can have some snacks first. And after that, we can do whatever we want—perhaps coloring or jumping on England's bed." he grinned gleefully.

Peter gasped, his bushy eyebrows raising. "England said I'm never supposed to do that!"

Prussia clamped his hand on the child's head in response, ruffling his golden locks. He snickered. "Well, guess who isn't here, Petie?

The boy paused, studying the two for a moment. "Does that mean I can do whatever I want?"

Spain grinned in response. "Of course! What would you like to do?"

"Yeah! You've got your two fun loving, awesome uncles here to grant your every wish, not that stuffy old big brother of yours." Prussia lifted the child into the air. "And you know what? We're gonna make sure you have an awesome night, and it's gonna be so awesome that England will have no choice but to let us come over whenever we want!"

Peter giggled. He was having fun already. "Can we have snacks first?"

"Ah! Speaking of snacks..." Spain started to dig through the black bag that was slung over his shoulder. "I brought some really sweet stuff for you to try, Peter."

Prussia made a noise, almost dropping Peter. "You brought snacks, Toni? Your desserts are some of the best in the world! Why didn't you say you had some sooner? Give 'em here!" he stood, still holding Peter firmly in his arms, hopping from one foot to the other. "I love your snacks!"

Spain continued to laugh, producing some of his famous sweets from the bag. "Eat up."

Red eyes lit up at the sight of the colorful snacks. "Bwa ha ha! They're so mine!" he shouted, grabbing a large handful, still juggling Peter in his arms. Then, glancing down at the small boy, grinned again. "Ha! I call dibs on feeding the kid!"

Spain made a small whine. "Aww, no fair."

"Suck it, Toni. You snooze, you lose." Prussia stuck out his tongue as he started to force-feed the overwhelmed child. He grinned. "Eat up, Petie, there's plenty more where this awesome stuff came from!"

Spain swallowed. "Uuun, you should slow down, Gil. This reminds me of that time you tried to feed Roma-chan as a kid. We don't want Peter to choke."

Prussia blinked. "Oh, crap, that's right. I remember that." he slowed down, allowing Peter to actually chew the sweets. "We sure as hell don't want to repeat what happened then."

Peter swallowed, and his eyes lit up, pleased with the wonderful tastes. "Ohh! That's good!"

"See, Petie, I told you that these snacks were awesome!" Prussia exclaimed, taking one of the snacks for himself. "Now eat more!"

Spain laughed good naturedly as the two in front of him gobbled down his homemade snacks. "Ha ha ha...looks like we're not going to sleep once that sugar rush kicks in, you know? So what should we do?"

Prussia swallowed his food with a loud gulp. "_KESESESE!_ WE SHOULD TOTALLY HAVE A PARTY!" he yelled. "THAT WOULD BE TOTALLY AWESOME!"

Spain's eyes lit up. "_Si_, we should! We can invite everyone and have a _fiesta_! And by everyone, I mean America and Roma-chan. And by _fiesta_, I mean _fiesta_."

The albino began to jump around the room. "Yeah! And Matt, too!" he added.

The Spaniard blinked. "Who?"

—**Much later...—**

"Oh hon hon—Arthur, _mon cher_, how did you like the movie?" France asked his companion, his arm draped over England's shoulder as they walked through the London neighborhood, heading back to England's home. "It was very good, no?"

"...I don't know if I will ever go to see a movie with again." England swallowed, trying to get France off of him. "I swear, you have the worst tastes ever. Next time, I chose."

France laughed. "That means there will be a next time, no?"

England's face flushed, but then he caught sight of his home, and his face immediately dropped, turning pale white. All the lights were on, the windows open, and loud yelling coming from inside. France looked up at the house, too, and his mouth dropped open. Silently, they looked at each other.

England immediately raced to the door and burst it open, infuriated. America was lying on the couch, beer in hand, Canada next to him, face flushed red due to the alcohol.

"Hei, Iggy, welcome home!" America called, jumping up and running to England, trying to give the country a kiss. England smacked America over the head.

Canada hiccupped. "Ahh...I-I'm Canada." he said, face flushed.

England's face was beet red from all the blood that was pushed into his face from the sheer anger he was experiencing. "_Where. Is. Peter_."

America laughed. "Ah, I'll tell ya, but only if ya...if ya gimmie a kiss first—"

England smacked down America again. "Denied!"

He ran up the stairs, two at a time, only to find a drunken Prussia at the top, singing a drunken song. Prussia giggled at the Brit. "Oh, craps, I'm screwed, aren't I?" he slurred.

England grabbed the albino's collar and lifted him up, shaking from anger. There were no words that would be able to describe how infuriated he was at that single moment. "You're _damn_ right you are. _Where is my child?_"

Prussia hiccupped. "'s with Toni and Roma." he replied, giggling.

England dropped the silver haired man, disregarding Prussia's cries of pain as his head slammed onto the wooden floor, and dashed through all of the rooms, the worry growing with each empty—if trashed—room. When he wrenched the door to Peter's room open, his eyes widened in response to seeing Spain and Romano—perfectly sober—sitting on the floor, the blond child nuzzled in Romano's lap, sleeping peacefully. Romano gave a glare at the racket that the Englishman was making.

England let of a sigh in relief. His angel was safe. Then, remembering why he was so causing a ruckus in the first place, he frowned. "What the _bloody hell_ happened here?"

Spain grinned. "Ah, hombre, why don't you sit down with us? Peter missed you."

England nearly fell as he ran to the child, grabbing him from Romano's lap, and cuddling the boy. "What am I supposed to say about this?" he whispered, breathless, at the Spaniard.

"I don't know, man, but I really don't feel like being yelled at. Things got a little out of hand downstairs, so Roma-chan and I decided to take Peter to bed." Spain ran his hand through his hair. "So whatever's going on downstairs has nothing to do with me, okay?"

England didn't reply, too busy making sure Peter—_his child_—was alright. Spain smiled gently at the sight of the doting man.

"You're a really good brother, England."

**~chapter nine end~**


	15. Memories of A Letter

The war had finally ended.

It had been two years since Peter had appeared, and the war had finally ended.

England was casually thumbing through the mail in the kitchen, standing over a pot of boiling water. France had gone back to his house, as they now needed him, and England was left to care for Peter on his own. Not that he minded this, of course. France still popped over almost every week in order to cook for them, and play with Peter, who now had grown so much that he looked as if he were ten or twelve years old. That had worried England momentarily, being that the child was growing up even faster then America did, but he constantly reminded himself that Peter would never leave.

No, he would never leave. England would not let Peter experience sadness or lonliness, so he would never leave.

England smiled to himself as he looked through each letter, most of them congradulating him on the end of the war, but he stopped cold when he came across one letter.

_To Sir Arthur Kirkland, from Parliment._

Parliment never sent letters unless there was an order...unless England was doing something that he shouldn't...that he was disobeying orders. It was like that with each country, and it was something England hadn't experienced often.

His hands began to tremble as he opened the envelope, as he vaugly wondered why Parliment was sending him a letter at a time like this, why now, of all times? He glanced up at the pot, then grabbed the knob to the stove in order to turn it off. This was not a time to be cooking. France would no doubt be here soon anyway and take it from him.

England stumbled away from the kitchen until he reached the sitting room, where he sank on his favorite armchair as he read the words he had always dreaded to hear.

_Dear Mr. Kirkland,_

_As the war has ended, we now need to discus Fort Roughes. It is well-known that you took a child who claims to be the personification of this fort, but it has been compromising your work._

_It has been decided that Fort Roughes is no longer needed, and that you are to return the child to the fort henceforth. There will be royal guards to protect him, and you are no no longer be concerned over him._

_This is an order._

**- to be continued**


	16. Memories of the Begining

It was a busy day when England's phone began to ring.

It was 1943, and England was in the middle of a war against Germany. He cringed as the phone wailed in his ear. Though he hated it, and though he was currently swamped with work, he was required to answer all calls, especially those that came to his personal phone. He picked up and snapped, "Yes, hello, this is Arthur Kirkland. Speak quickly."

"...Mister Kirkland, sir?" a soft, hesitant voice answered back. "Do you have a moment, sir?"

England frowned, then slowly put down his papers, now curious. "Yes lad, what is it? I'm very busy at the moment, so speak quick." he answered back, brows furrowed.

"Sir, if you could recall that we have been building war forts for a while now, and one in particular is called Fort Roughes..."

"Yes, I quite remember that." England replied, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to recall which fort he was talking about. There were many war forts being made, as they were in the middle of a war, and none of them concerned England very much. "Your point, please?"

"I-I don't know very much about...your kind, sir, but..." the voice hesitated for another moment before speaking again. "You should come down here immediatly, sir. One of your kind...I believe that he's here."

At this, England blinked, his attention now caught. "My...? Yes, I'll be there momentarily." he said, quickly hanging up the phone. He sighed, then stood up from his chair and desk and turned to look out the window.

"My kind...?"

As England stepped off the boat that had taken him to Fort Roughes, he was met my a young, fidgeting officer with sandy brown hair and dark green eyes. The officer saluted him as he approached. "S-sir."

England saluted back quickly, then lowered his hand, now intent on finding out what this bussiness was all about. "Where is the one you call 'my kind', then?" he asked, a serious expression furrowing on his face.

The officer beckoned England to come foward. England walked with the man until they approached a door in the middle of the fort. He opened the door, and England was met with the sight of a sleeping, blond infant resting on a cot pushed to one of the walls. There was another officer in there, and at the sight of the brown haried man, stood up and nodded. He saluted to England before leaving.

England's eyes widened as he examined the child. He crossed his arms. "Whose child is this?"

The officer shook his head. "None of ours, sir. He showed up here a few nights ago. There had been no boats with passengers, and none of the officers here have any children. One of our superiors suggusted that he might be..." at this, he trailed off and backed away as England approached the baby.

"So you think he's one of my kind. A personification." England finished the officer's words as he knelt down to furthur inspect the infant in front of him. He bushed away the sandy blond bangs and was mildly surprised to find large eyebrows looking back at him. "How do you figure that, if I may ask?"

At this question, the officer began to fidget again. "Well, sir, I-I mean...he was out here in the ocean all alone. He appeared to us and then fell into the ocean. He should have drowned, sir, but he's here...under any kinds of circumstances, he should be dead, but here he is."

England tilted his head, still captured by the baby's features. "He fell into the ocean? That's...he's so small. How did he...?"

"We pulled him out in a panic. We thought he was a cihld of our senior officer,but he's not. He was sobbing wildly when we pulled him out, and he's been sleeping since then, sir." the brown haired man took a deep breath before continuing. "The construction of Fort Roughes was only recently completed, sir. Our senior officer suggusted that perhaps he was..."

The words were now passing over England's head, as he continued to stare, facinated, at the baby. He was consumed with a desire to hold the child, and he gently took the boy into his arms. He stood, cradling the baby, and couldn't help smiling.

At England's touch, the baby's eyes fluttered open. He looked up at England with blue eyes and gurgled. "Hwooh." he giggled, then reached up and tugged on a lock of England's hair. "Hwooh."

England began to blush, though thankfully he was saved from embarassment because he was still turned away from the young officer. He cleared his throat. "He very well could be one. A personification, I mean."

The baby began to squeal now, reaching all over England's face and tugging at everything he could. He giggled as he felt England's eyebrows, his cheeks, his chin, and his nose. The baby then began to nuzzle to England's chest, and there was no doubt in England's mind. The nation coughed before turning to the officer, who jumped at the sudden movement of the blond.

"You said this child had no one, correct?"

The officer nodded. "Is he...?"

"I belive he is." England nodded, smiling proudly as the baby cuddled with his chest.

Relief washed over the young man's face. He swallowed and tugged at his neckline. "Thank you sir. Sorry for the trouble. We can take care of him now." he said softly, reaching out to take the baby. At this, the baby began to fuss, and England frowned.

"That's not neccisary." England replied curtly.

"...what do you mean, sir?"

"It's simple. I shall take care of the child."

The officer, surprised, began to stutter again. "S-sir, that's not neccisary. W-we can take care of children quite well, and there's no reason t-to go out of your way to..."

"I'm not going out of my way." England replied hastily, holding the child closer to his chest, eyes never leaving the precious treasure. "It's my decision to look after and take care of this child, so I obviously can handle it." he smiled at the baby, then looked up at the officer and that warmth in his eyes was gone. His brows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes. "Unless it is that you're questioning my abilities?"

"N-not at all, sir!" the officer fidgeted, blushing. "I-it's just that...s-since you..."

"Since I have a war going on, I'm far too busy and far to weak to raise and care for my own kind?" England said icily, glaring poison. "You must have forgotten who I am."

The young officer's face turnd bright red. "N-not at all sir. I-I was just...my apoligies, sir."

Suddenly, the baby began to fuss. He curled up his fists and began to bawl, soaking England's vest with tears as he wailed. England's expression turned gently as he tried to shush the blond baby, but to no avail. He looked back up. "See, look, now you've upset him. Go draw up the papers and set the arrangements to allow me to take this child home." he ordered, scowling. The guard nodded and complied, rushing out of the small room.

England then turned his attention back to the wailing bundle in his arms. He shushed, bouncing the baby slightly in an attempt to calm him down. "Now, now, it's alright, lad. It's alright, don't cry." he soothed. "How did you get all the way in the ocean? Usually new personifications are born near another country, in order to be taken care of..." he quickly used his thumb to swipe away the new tears forming in the baby's eyes. The child stopped his wailing and hiccuped, looking up at England almost expectantly. This softened the old nation's heart even more. "There there, lad. See? You've got no reason to cry. I'm going to make sure I take excellent care of you...you must have been so scared and lonely, weren't you? All alone in the ocean."

"...sched." the baby repeated England's words hesitantly, sticking his knuckle in his mouth as he nuzzled closer to England.

The blond nation held him tighter. His eyes saddened at the child. "Yes. You must have been so scared. But it's alright, you don't have to be scared anymore. You're a special child, lad. You don't need to ever be scared, or crying, or alone, because I'm going to take the best care of you. I won't ever let you be frightened again, and I'll make sure you're never lonely." England promised, smiling.

"I won't ever repeat my mistakes again. I promise." 


	17. Memories of Our Final Days

**Memories of a Different Time**

**A Hetalia Fanfiction**

**-OoO-**

**Memories of a Goodbye**

When England awoke, it was in a cold sweat.

He sat up in his bed, then looked around the room in almost a panic. It was dark, and through that darkness England could make out that the grandfather clock pushed against the wall told him that it was currently four in the morning. The former British Empire shuddered, then put his head into his hands, wiping away the sweat on his brow. He curled into himself, shaking, trembling from his nightmares.

...no, that was wrong. It hadn't been a nightmare, but it would soon be one, haunting him every night as he put his head to the pillow.

The blond made sure he had a good footing on the ground before he eased out of the bed, running his hand through his hair. He knew there would be no chance of rest anytime soon. Not today, or tomorrow, or probably the day after that.

The guilt would keep him awake. The fear of nightmares, and the broken promises, would come rushing back to him every night, never letting him rest.

_-OoO-_

"England, where are we going today?"

England forced himself to smile down at the boy in front of him. He took Peter's hand and squeezed it. "We're going somewhere special. Somewhere that I hope you'll like a lot." he said with a gentle, sad smile.

Peter blinked up at him with a confused expression, curious as to why his older brother looked so sorrowful. Still, he didn't ask questions, and simply squeezed England's hand back. "I'm sure if I'm with you, I'll like it." he replied with a grin. "I like going places with England. But how come Jii or Alfred or Mattie can't come with us? I like going with everyone better."

The former pirate shook his head and squeezed Peter's hand tighter. "N-no. They're busy today. But they'll come soon, lad, I promise."

England hadn't told anyone of his order, nor did he have any intention of doing so. It would be too cruel, too heartbreaking, for anyone else to know the true intentions of what he was going to do.

Somehow, it felt like karma. Like payback for abandoning the other child who he had held precious. Like someone out there had a grude against him, and wanted to strike at him in his prime moment of weakness.

England felt that he deserved it, and he didn't want any sympathy from his comrades. So he would never tell. Once France, and America, and Canada found out that England was abandoning this precious, precious angel - his angel - they would despise him. They would hate him, because they wouldn't know that he had been ordered to do it. And England wanted that hate.

He felt that it was justified. England wanted nothing more then to blame himself, too.

It was a feeling that England didn't understand, but at the same time he did. It was simply something he couldn't put into words.

Shaking himself out of his brooding, England reached down and picked his blond brother up, and despite the good-natured protests and inevitable laughter that came from the boy, England squeezed the child around the waist and wished deeply that he didn't ever have to let go.

_-OoO-_

"England, is this a boat?"

England turned to Peter, his hand resting on the small boat's hull. He had rented it the day before just for the two of them. "Yes, Peter, it is." he said warmly, and he was reminded that despite how he looked, Peter was really only a few years old. "We're going to go for a sail, and then I'll take you somewhere special. Is that quite alright with you?"

Peter nodded, still smiling widely, unaware of England's dark, heavy feelings. "Yeah! I remember one of these from when I was really small." he said, climbing down from England's shoulders. He looked excitedly around. "Where's the captian? We need a captian for the ship, don't we?"

"No need." England grinned. "I was a captian once. Sailing these things comes like second nature to me. I was a pirate, you know."

The child gave an audiable gasp. He turned to England, eyes wide, his furry eyebrows hidden behind his bangs in astonishment. "You were a pirate, England?" he asked, tugging on England's sleeve. "Wow! That's so cool! Did you rampage and plunder, like real pirates do?"

"Of course!" England laughed, scruffling Peter's head. "That was the life! Ah, nothing but plundering and drinking, all day long." he knelt down and his smile became soft. "But, really, to be honest, I like living with you better."

_-OoO-_

They had been sailing for half an hour, and Peter looked happier then he ever did.

Not to say that Peter never looked happy - no, far from it - but there was a sparkle in his eyes that England couldn't really describe. He ran around the deck of the ship, blue eyes wide, taking in everything that the sea had to offer. He ran around the ship as if he couldn't ever rest. Peter spun around and laughed and played and looked up at the sky with such intense energy that England had never seen, not even in this rambuncious child he had raised.

It was then that England remembered that the sea was Peter's true home, and London wouldn't - _couldn't_ - ever be where he truly belonged.

"Alright, set off the anchor! We're going to take a small break."

"Yessir, Captian England sir!"

England leaned on the ship's edge as he watched Peter run around, fumbling and laughing. The child dropped their anchor into the sea and looked up at England, grinning and saluting. England smiled back and hopped from his position at the ship's wheel to the main deck, closing his eyes as the wind passed him in a whirl. He landed on his feet and leaned down, tugging Peter into a tight hug. Peter hugged back, happy at the amount of affection that he was being given.

"Captian England?"

"Yes, First Mate?"

"I love you!"

England buried his head into Peter's shoulder and hugged tighter, hoping that the tight squeezing would mask his shaking. He hugged as tight as he could as his voice cracked.

"Yes, I...I love you too. I'll always love you. Remember that."

_-OoO-_

It was nearing sundown when they began to approach the fort in the sea. Peter was half asleep, tired from all the play and excersize that he had experienced that day. England smiled and covered him with a blanket - hand stitched, from the time when England took care of America and Canada - patting his shoulder before whispering, "Stay strong, lad." He then climbled out of the ship and onto the docks of the fort.

England saluted the officer who met with him as he climbled out of the ship. He then lowered his hand and his expression becam solem as the officer climbed into the vessel, taking the sleeping Peter into his arms. England pulled out the rabbit - the one he had first given to America, then handed down to Peter - out of his coat and carefully put the stuffed friend in Peter's arms, tucking the blanket in tighter as the officer stood like stone. He nodded, and just like that, the man walked away, nodding silently at the nation.

England watched them until they went into a lone room on the ship and the door closed. He did not move, even as the sun dissapeared behind the horizon. Slowly, he climbed back into the boat and began to sail away, and it wasn't until the fort was out of sight that the tears began.

The nation crumpled at the wheel, gripping his chest as he sobbed.

The tears would not stop.

Even if they did, England would simply start crying again.

_-OoO-_

_Memories are a powerful thing. They can make you smile, and yet at the same time they can hurt you. They can show depths to a person, or persons, or give a simple action a very deep, hidden meaning._

_These memories are from before, when things were simple, but not too simple when children played, and when all one had to do was smile to make the world brighter._

_This is the story before the story, when England loved, and subsequently lost, a precious little boy._

_/end_

**(A/N: This is the end, folks. Sorry if it seemed a bit rushed. Thank you for staying with me for this long, and I hope to see you again someday.)**


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